


Buffy The Vampire Slayer: Dualities

by T_HBOX



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Mage: The Ascension
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7824886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/T_HBOX/pseuds/T_HBOX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The events in this story take place in the first quarter of the Fifth Television Season.</p>
<p>It features an original character or two created through the Mage: The Ascension gaming system.</p>
<p>The draft was started with the premise, "what if Buffy met members of the Akashic Brotherhood" and progressed to, "what kind of freaky story can be told here?" And when I say freaky, I mean combat and plot stuff.</p>
<p>Enjoy! Many thanks to Joss Whedon and White Wolf Games for the continuing inspirations.</p>
<p>This story was originally composed in 2003...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dualities

_The circle was complete, warm and inviting..._

_An endless ecstasy - nothing and no one but HER. She filled up everything, she was ALL. Hands warm and wondrous, hair of auburn evergreens, her supple body an incarnation of the Goddess itself, and her eyes - deep hazel gateways to the most giving heart in the whole cosmos._

_Bathed in this warmth, Tara was happy, restful. Nothing else mattered now; she was cherished, adored, fussed over, appreciated, and simply loved by HER. All was perfection, holy and humbling, in this warmth..._

 

 

The alarm clock had other ideas, however, screaming its way into their tranquil slumber. Tara jerked awake.

Uugghh, morning. With an extra Ugh. Life. Reality. School. Exams. But, worst of all, she had to get up. Oh, my Goddess, was it awful. Take it away!

She wearily stopped the intrusive noise, feeling sure that she was someplace better not fifteen seconds ago.

“Tara? Wakey, wakey?”

The bleary voice sounded exactly how Tara felt. Tara smiled in spite of herself.

As hard as adult life could be, there were benefits. And the best thing about HER was that she was really there by her side - Willow, the Goddess’s gift to her, Tara. Admittedly, Tara’s rib was a bit sore from where Willow’s elbow had rested all night, but such things were trivial when life decided to be generous.

“You wakey-wakey over there?”

It was that barely-wakened creak in Willow’s voice that made her heart sing. All was well in Tara’s world.

“Barely”, she yawned out, “but I’ll manage.” She hugged Willow closer to her, running her hands through fiery red hair. It felt wonderful to be wanted.

And for a time, all was restful. All was peace. Just two young lovers in each others’ arms. All was communion...

But for the alarm clock screaming again.

Until it was whacked to the floor.

 

 

 

 

 

A few bowls of cereal and a couple of showers later, and they had chased away the dreadful wake-up blues. Waking from sleep was a horror for any typical college student, second only to the doom of finals.

Willow had no classes today, so she was in a perky mood, considering possible plans for her and Tara’s day together.

Unless...

“You wouldn’t happen to have any classes today, would ya, babe?”

“Just one. We have a quiz. And the Wiccan group is meeting today; there’s a special class on meditation. Thought I’d give that a try. But after that, nothing else - unless it’s with you.”

They both just smiled, lighting up their own little space. It was amazing what a simple smile could do.

“And what are your plans for the day, my Willowness?”

“No classes. It’s a day off”, she beamed. “Though I am trying to avoid the doing of laundry. It’s a very traditional part of the whole college student experience.”

Tara grinned. She, too, avoided laundry unless desperately necessary. Maybe they could avoid it together...

“Or, while you’re at class, I might stop by the magic shop. Say hi to Giles. And I want to touch base with Buffy, see how she is.”

“Well, you’ll be at the Wiccan meeting today, though, right?” Tara’s eyes smiled hopefully.

Willow considered. Truth be told, she didn’t really want to. She didn’t want to hurt Tara’s feelings, but, aside from Tara, Willow felt no real motivation to go.

For one thing, they were just amateurs. College students like her, but half of them didn’t ever really take it seriously. To them, magic, demonology, natural forces of the Earth - all of these things were just theories and wistful fancies, half-truths that perhaps once were but only existed in some intangible memory of the human race. Willow, however, had had, for better or worse, real true experiences with the Real Things, and knew the truths (or, at least, most of them) from the falsehoods.

Some of them seemed to be jealous of her, too. She’d had enough experience with envy and jealousy to know that she didn’t want any more; she hated the ideas of being the cause or the victim of all that.

“I don’t know. Maybe not today. But I’ll be here later”, she beamed, her smile full of promise. She hoped Tara would understand.

Tara didn’t, of course, but...

“Well, okay. But I’m not sure how long it’ll be. But I’ll be back in time for a mid-afternoon hangout. And dinner tonight. What would you like?”

Seeing a way to soften the earlier blow, Willow leaped into action. “Say, how about I make us dinner? I could go up to the library and dig up a recipe from the Middle Ages. Or I could ask Buffy’s mom to give me a recipe for something fancy yet homey, and then pretend I just threw it together. What do you say?”

Willow smiled her wide “For You Only” smile.

Beautiful, brainy, bountiful, and just plain bouncy, that Willow. Tara adored her, adored everything about her.

“Okay,” she laughed, grinning widely.

It was a grand start to the day - their day.

 

 

 

 

“ _What else are we coming here for, my Lady?”_

 

_THEM. I WANT THEM BOTH._

 

“ _But, but why?”_

 

_WE SHARE THE SAME ESSENCE._

 

“ _But, they may die from the en-“_

 

_THEN THEY DIE._

 

“ _But, my Lady – that’s not right.”_

 

_YOU DARE TO DEFY ME?!?_

 

“ _But, but, no offense my Lady, but, if they die, then they cannot aid us in our cause, no matter_

_how well you know them.”_

 

_YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND, MY CHILD. THEY WILL AID US WHETHER THEY LIVE OR DIE. I WILL HAVE THEIR POWER. THEY WILL AID ME. THEY WILL GIVE ME WHAT IS MINE. HOW COULD THEY NOT? THEY ARE FAMILY._

 


	2. Dualities

The circle was complete, and felt warm.

In the gathering of other kindred souls, particularly the UC Sunnydale Wiccan’s group, Tara felt home here, among these gentle people. She rarely felt this elusive quality, so she held onto it whenever it appeared; she was loathe to let go.

Angie, the group leader, had decided to try something new: a group meditation, designed to quiet the bustle of restlessness and allow the group to “tune into each other.” It met with mixed reactions, but so far, Tara quite enjoyed it - the opening minutes of silence always felt good to her; she would share them with anyone, anywhere.

“Meditation is about achieving stillness within yourself.”

That voice - she knew it belonged to the guest speaker, a tall, almost ethereal Apache red man. She had never met him, she was sure...

“I thought meditation was about sitting in strange positions and remembering that you were called “grasshopper” in like a past life or maybe something like that.”

Tara winced at the speaker’s poor comedy. Apparently, someone here was not getting the concept of silence. She kept her eyes closed as she listened.

“No. That is called ‘Hollywood.’”

She smirked in spite of herself. The teacher hadn’t missed a beat, and had delivered his crushing blow with no noticeable change in either tone or inflection.

His voice was so thick, and rich, and deep. It was, on occasion, creaky and gravelly, but... there was just this - some unidentifiable quality about it that intrigued her.

She kept trying to figure out why his voice intrigued her so, as he went on.

“There is no place for Hollywood here in the arts of meditation. There is not even room for YOU. The aim is to make yourself an empty vessel, something to be filled. Emptiness, you see, is most useful.”

Tara didn’t see. Something about the wording disturbed her, irritated her. Confused, she raised her hand, opening her eyes.

“Yes,” he asked, facing her.

“How can emptiness be useful?”

“Simple. When one is empty, one may allow something higher to work through them, to cleanse themselves or to balance their internal energies. Silence by itself is unique, even powerful. Experienced internally, through meditation, it becomes divine.” He continued to face her, as if sensing her next question.

“Oh. Oh, okay. I think...” Tara still wasn’t sure. She saw that his expression hadn’t changed. Self-consciously, she shrugged apologetically.” I don’t mean to question you.”

The teacher - Joshua, Tara recalled - shook his head. “By all means, please do. Feel free to question me. For that matter, question liberally everything you see and hear. Accept nothing that you cannot verify for yourself. That is the truest way to find the correct methods for your work.”

That made sense to Tara, who bowed to him in thanks for his aid. Her heart warmed as he bowed humbly towards her in return.

He felt...sincere. That was a rare commodity these days.

Angie had been talking about him for weeks. Though many of Angie’s friends had attended the meetings, Joshua was unlike any of them - he seemed confident in himself, as if he knew everything he needed to know, and sought only to apply his knowledge. He was extraordinarily silent, speaking only when spoken to, rarely more than a few words until today, as teaching necessitated more talking. Tara had met him only one other time, and had looked forward to seeing him today; she found that she couldn’t forget him very easily. He had just sort of gently lodged himself in her mind’s eye.

Given that he was teaching an Eastern Asiatic practice, he was as red as any member of the Apache nation, though his skin also had something of an oddly bright blue sheen. And then there was his forehead, with its rippling ridges going up past his hairline. There was a tattoo on the ridges, and his forearms were heavily tattooed with fiery designs that almost seemed to glow; his graceful poise indicated that he took some extreme form of physical discipline - perhaps he was a dancer, Tara mused, or more likely, a martial artist.

He was, in essence, a walking cultural misfit. She felt she could relate to that.

But what she found the most intriguing were his eyes. They absorbed everything with a piercing grey gaze, and belied some sort of power - they practically sang to her. She smiled shyly, idly wondering how Willow - or any of the other Scoobies, for that matter - would view this man.

“He seems neat,” said Kelly, one of Tara’s classmates.

“Yeah,” said Tara. “Open-minded and very non-judgmental.”

“That’s good, I think. Ever since Angie took over the group meetings, it’s been like ‘do it this way,’ and “no, that’s not the RIGHT way,’ you know”

“I can see how that would bother people,” Tara reflected neutrally. “We might lose some people if we keep doing it this way, but we seem to be getting more done than we did before.”

“You mean you and Willow are okay with that?”

“Well, I am. Nothing wrong with a little discipline, as long as it’s not too overbearing.” She couched her defense in a smile, not wanting to say anything bad about anyone if she could help it. “I don’t know about Willow; she would find the good in it, like she does everything else.” Like in me, she thought wistfully.

“Yeah,” sighed Kelly. “Say - where is Willow? She was going to be here, right?”

A slight wince crept into Tara’s smile, and then sat down and camped there. “She was way behind on laundry; said she couldn’t fight the piles anymore,” she said, cringing at how lame it sounded...

Tara was never good at lying; even little white ones painted themselves on her face, begging to be discovered. At moments like this, she always felt transparent.

Not for the first time that day she wished that Willow had come to the group after all.

But, somehow, Kelly hadn’t caught on.

‘I hate doing laundry,” Kelly commiserated.

Tara closed her eyes to try the meditation again -

“Oooouuueeeaaaaa,” cooed Kelly softly. “Tara, look over there! On the windowsill!”

Tara opened her eyes and followed Kelly’s voice gazing at the window, where she found her gaze staring back at her.

It was a falcon!

Oh my Goddess! A falcon! And he - she – it’s gorgeous! Grey and brown plumage, solid black bottomless eyes, proud beak - just gorgeous!

And it’s watching me...

The Falcon then turned its attention elsewhere, to - Joshua. Time seemed to stretch as…

Tara was sure she felt something flash between the enigmatic teacher and the grey falcon, but wasn’t sure exactly what.

“Whoa,” she breathed.

She tried to hear Joshua as he turned to Angie and said -

“Yeah,” sighed Kelly loudly, breaking her concentration. “Isn’t it just spiffy?”

Tara nodded, too distracted to answer coherently.

Only then did she notice that Joshua had left the room.

“Guys,” called Angie to the group. “Our guest had to step out, and he may not be back today. Why don’t we go on to the regular stuff?”

Quite a few people were disappointed, but most of them took it well - even the smart aleck who had made fun earlier on.

“I wonder why he had to leave so early,” mused Kelly. “I don’t think he saw the pretty bird, either.”

Tara was curious too, despite herself.

Maybe, she thought, maybe I should...

No. Forget it.

Then she saw the falcon gaze her way again before soaring off into the afternoon sky.

Tara felt a slight shiver.

She wondered how Willow was.

 

 

 

 

**There’s trouble coming. You can count on it.**

 

“Angie didn’t feel - right today. Did she?”

 

**No. Extremely nervous. Unhinged, even.**

 

“She felt...chaotic.”

 

**There is a dangerous power there.**

 

“What is the next step for us, in this time and place?”

 

**Helios and Skyclaw went hunting.**

 

“And?”

 

**Many undead. Much more than the usual numbers.**

 

“I say we let the locals sleep in peace, how about you?”

 

**Agreed.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Dualities

“I wonder how Tara is.”

Giles looked up at Willow, having lost track of counting the day’s receipts at the Magic Box.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Giles remarked, smiling at the naive uncertainty of youth in love. It was refreshing to see in these young people that meant so much to him, who reminded Giles of the days when he was...well, younger.

Willow was helping Giles clean up the shop, dusting and straightening up shelves here and there. It was something to take up the time, and she always enjoyed his company.

The young witch began reflecting on the past few months as she had finally let go of Oz and had discovered that she was in love with another woman. She felt vaguely that she had missed something somewhere along the way; had she changed at some indefinable point in her life?

_No,_ she thought, _I still feel like me, like I always have. My friends are still my friends, my family - still my friends, still the same old classes. Still the same old world. Sky’s still blue - this week, anyway; the Earth’s still a plethora of multicoloured whatchamadosits._

_Still me. And still in love. With another woman._

_Well…not just any woman. Tara. What a woman._

_Wow._

_Gulp._

_So how do I tell my Mom about this?_

An unusual gush of confidence, laced in with just a tiny bit of fear, made itself felt. Love can conquer all, it said. Even uncomprehending Jewish parents.

She shrugged to herself. Sometime or another, she told herself, I’ll tell them.

“Giles?”

“Yes?”

“What do you think of Tara?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You never told me what _you_ thought of her. As a person, I mean”, she smiled.

Rupert Giles, master occultist, consummate researcher, and (former) Watcher extraordinaire was, he liked to think, a simple man at heart. To him, women were a supernatural phenomena all unto themselves, a subject that deserved its own special shelf - if not building - in his library; as such, Giles sometimes felt that women - and, for that matter, romantic relationships in general - were far beyond his broad expertise. He felt woefully inadequate to the task of understanding anything as simple and as complicated as love; he wondered what Willow was really asking him.

“Well, I think she’s quite wonderful, actually.”

“Really,” asked Willow, stunned.

“Well, yes. A little difficult to understand, sometimes, but that’s just because she doesn’t say much. But she’s honest, thoughtful, caring, considerate, attentive...and she has very warm eyes.” Giles glowed at the portrait he saw.

“I didn’t know you saw all of that,” Willow whispered, amazed at her friend’s words.

“Well, of course I did,” laughed Giles. “I feel I’ve gotten to know her somewhat over the summer. At least, as well as I can get to know her. But, yes, I, I think she’s quite a stunning young lady. You’re very lucky.”

 

Willow beamed at him, then turned around to regard the window and the setting sun outside. “It’s getting late. I hope she’s okay.”

“Didn’t you say she was at that group meeting, or whatever it was?”

“It was something about meditation. I didn’t go - I had laundry to avoid doing.”

The shop bell rang, announcing a visitor.

Willow leaped in anticipation of seeing...

“Hey, Will. What’s up?”

Buffy Summers smiled at her best friend, putting her coat in the closet and trying to lose her homework assignment.

Willow calmed down, her face just to the right of downcast.

“Hey, Buffy”, she smiled gamely.

A raised eyebrow appeared on Buffy’s regular everyday faceness. “Ah. Waiting for that _other,_ gorgeous blonde chick in your life, huh?” She strided towards the back room with a playful grin. “I see how I’ve been so easily replaced.” She batted her lashes at Willow.

“Yeah. Sorry, Buff. Just miss her, that’s all.”

Buffy smiled. “The beginning of a relationship”, Buffy sighed wistfully. “A wonderful thing - for most of us...Gosh, I miss those days...anyway, Mom said you stopped by the house for some cooking secrets this afternoon.”

Willow grimaced, recalling the slightly awkward conversation. “Yeah, she was great. She sort of initiated me into the “Chefs For That Special Someone Club.” She even gave me a card, I think. I was surprised that she even got any vacation days.”

Buffy nodded.

“I think I’m going to go start dinner. I’ve never really done this sort of thing before, not even for Oz.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Xander said you used to fix stuff for him all the time.”

Willow put on her coat, rolling her eyes. “That doesn’t count. Microwaving hot dogs and nachos doesn’t really cut it as fine cuisine. Besides - us womenfolk are pickier than that, you know.”

Buffy grinned. While she wasn’t sure this thing with Tara would work out for the best, she had high hopes for them. Tara seemed to be the best thing that had happened to Willow in a long time.

Besides, Buffy knew that, where relationships were concerned, women were usually more open, honest, and reasonable than most men.

Shining like a beacon, Willow waved goodbye to her friends, practically skipping out the door, where she almost knocked down an incoming Anya.

“Hey, Anya! Bye!”

Anya, ex-Vengeance Demon, occasional apprentice retail clerk, feminine counterpart to Xander and recent discoverer of humanity and all its pitfalls and ecstasies, carefully strode in, checking around corners for any other hidden dangers.

“That was Willow,” she stated in a no-nonsense, agitated manner. “Is she on any prescription medication?”

“Merely the sting of Cupid’s arrow, Thank God”, Giles lightly retorted.

“There she goes,” Buffy observed, “hopping along like a little bunny rabbit.”

“Oh God,” winced Anya. “Please - anything but that.”

“Say,” Buffy turned to Anya. “Where’s Xander? He was supposed to be here with that stuff from his workplace by now.”

“You’re asking me? Please. I only have wild passionate monkey sex with him every night; I don’t keep track of his comings and goings.

Buffy and Giles bored into Anya with stares that snubbed her into silence.

“Sorry. Still, uh, learning the lingo.” She smiled the smile of the truly damning, and, with that, stepped back behind the counter to take over the shop.

“That was certainly more than we needed to know,” croaked Giles.

“At least she’s getting the woman thing down pat,” observed Buffy.

“Anya,” said Giles, “We’ll be training in the back. When Xander gets here, send him on in, won’t you?”

“Got ya, Boss man,” she grinned, holding up her hands and extending her thumbs. Downward.

With much head-shaking, Buffy and Giles headed into the back for training as the door closed behind them.

 

 


	4. Dualities

Xander entered the office trailer and tossed off his hard hat, glad to be done with the day’s work. A voice from behind startled him.

“Harris?”

“Yessir?”

Xander hated the sound of being sycophantic, but it got him a paycheck and promised further employment opportunities with more practise. So, he bit down on his resentment.

His boss, Randy Jonas, was the foreman on the site. He had hired Xander when no one else would, and for that, Xander was grateful. Xander had been trying to show many thanks to his foreman by concentrating diligently on his job performance, reveling in a hitherto undiscovered love for woodworking. He often did extra work and odds and ends on the job to keep in practise, and to impress his new boss. His new boss had duly noted his work, and was now getting to know Xander as a person, naturally.

Which was why Xander was more than a little nervous; people often started out with Xander on a fairly equilateral basis - they would get along just fine, and then discover who he really was. And then, they’d slink off and do something they found far more preferable to hanging out with Xander Harris - like collecting spores.

It didn’t help that Xander had yet to figure out how to come to grips with his new boss. He had little idea that Jonas more or less liked everybody - especially when he could find ways to laugh at them. At their own expense. On a regular basis. In front of everybody.

Jonas sounded just in the mood for this as he caught up with his latest employable acquisition.

“You still want this leftover wood?”

“You betcha. Sir. If it’s okay.”

Jonas, mystified by Xander’s strange affectation, dropped a bag onto the floor of the trailer.

“All yours. Go ahead.”

Xander took a brief look.

Aaahh, he thought to himself. Perfect stake material. They just need to be sharpened.

At last...I can supply Slayers the world over.

_Xander’s Stake and Weapons Emporium,_ he thought to himself. _Nah. Too long. Though if Anya helped it would have the guaranteed expertise of a mind who knew weapons going back thousands of years. With quite a few suggestions for use, too._

_One step at a time, though. Thank the nice boss man, Xander..._

“Thanks, Boss, er, I mean, Mr. Jonas. I really do appreciate this.”

“Hey, no problem. You’re doing fine by me. You keep it up and I’ll make you a permanent part of this crew.”

He slapped Xander on the back, which nearly dislocated Xander’s spine.

Careful not to show the pain of disfigurement on his face, Xander grinned back and picked up the bag, ready to leave. “I’d appreciate that, Sir. Just trying to make my way in the world.” He nodded to Jonas, who smiled and nodded back. “You have a good night, Sir.” He turned to walk out of the trailer.

“You too, Harris. Only...”

Xander winced as he turned to face the foreman. He felt he knew what was coming. “Yes, Sir?”

”Can I ask you something?”

Eager to please his new weapons supplier, Xander braced himself.   
”Sure.”

“What are you going to do with all those sticks?”

Thinking fast, Xander took the plunge. “Well, maybe some experiments in avant-garde woodworking or maybe some shelving ideas I had for that apartment I’m going to eventually get. Or, just to carve little things out of.”

They all sounded lame, and he knew it. Still, he could see that Jonas didn’t really believe him. Apparently, he had his own idea.

“It’s okay, Harris. I know.” He winked at Xander, smiling the kind of smile that only the predator can muster to its prey.

“Uh...you...you do,” stuttered Xander.

“Yeah. Sure. It’s no problem. To tell the truth, you’ve been the envy of all the guys all day ever since your girlfriend told us. She came looking for you at lunchtime, today.”

Xander gaped at him. Anya had never come up to his work before today...

“You...you...you’ve got to be kidding.”

“No. She told us all about it. Coming up and just telling us how much she loved your wood! It’s just so classic!” The foreman started laughing convulsively.

Xander started blushing, which didn’t help. He had gone across the street for lunch, and just hadn’t thought to tell anyone. He regretted that now.

One thing was for certain: He and Anya were going to have a very long talk.

“And then, before you got back, your other girlfriend came by –“

“My _what_? _My OTHER girlfriend?!?_ ”

Xander felt like having a coronary. It would at least save him the time and effort of having to fight off his embarrassment.

“Yeah”, Jonas gleefully yelped. “When we asked HER, she said, and I’ll never forget: ‘we just keep breaking ‘em before we’re done with them!’”

Xander tried to breathe, and then gave up trying.

“How do you get these incredible-looking women, Harris?”

In a panic, Xander sputtered out “Must be my wood, Sir.”

Which got Jonas to laughing even harder.

Taking care not to break his spine, Jonas slapped him playfully on the back again, laughing even harder all the way out of the trailer.

“Oh God,” he muttered to himself as he walked to his car.

He thought about the embarrassment and humiliation on his way to the Magic Box. Bad enough that he was a bit short on the whole relationship thing, but - who was this other girl?

It didn’t sound like anything Buffy or Willow would say. It did sound like something Anya would say, but -

_God,_ he thought to himself. _I hope it’s not anyone I know._

_Of_ _ **course**_ _it is,_ _Xander,_ himself thought back. _Of course it’s someone you know. Why do you think this stuff happens to you? Because it_ _ **doesn’t**_ _happen to anyone else._

He looked at his watch, surprised by how quickly time had gotten away from him. He had so much more to do, and he was half an hour late already! If Jeff hadn’t broken that stupid bandsaw in half, and made Xander watch as they repaired it, and then kept him there for that humiliating encounter with his boss...

...then Xander would have missed seeing the vampires in the park.

 

 

 

 

 

“But, Mom!”

“No, Dawn, I’m sorry. We’re having the get-together dinner tonight. I told you this yesterday.”

“But, but Jenny and I can go to an early showing and be back in time for the dinner –“

“Oh, Sweetheart, I’ve just got too much to do to take you to the movies today. Why don’t you go tomorrow?”

“But Jenny won’t be able to go after her mom sees her report card!”

“Speaking of which...”

“Mom!”

“What did you get, Dawn?”

“I did good...”

“Not with English like that...”

“Hey, I did gooder in English than Buffy!”

“So when will you do perfectly in everything?”

“MOM!”

Life in the Summers household could be fraught with conflict - even at the best of times.

“Well, can Jenny come over for dinner, then?”

“Dawn, this is a family event!”

“But I’m only related to you and Buffy!”

“Dawn!”

Dawn stomped off to her room, in the way of all immature teenagers who believe themselves mature enough to make their own decisions regarding their nightly entertainment. Besides, it’s not as if any of Buffy’s friends wanted to see her there. Well, Tara and Willow and Xander, but that was all.

Buffy never seemed to have the time for her anymore...

Neither did anyone else, it seemed. And, a few moments aside, no one else paid her any attention.

Well, now that wasn’t quite true, was it? Spike did pay attention to Dawn, particularly the bits where Dawn would talk about Buffy. He seemed to have a soft spot for their mother as well; mainly, though, he had a hard spot for Buffy. It was so unfair it was disgusting. It felt like he never paid Dawn any attention, not any _real_ attention, the kind of attention young teenage girls like to be paid occasionally, which was to be admired and respected and wanted and desired.

And yet, Spike did pay attention to everything Dawn would say, and he’d tell her anything she wanted to know; he was easy to talk to in that manner, despite being a vampire. But she saw that he didn’t really see the way she felt about him. She felt like he was deliberately ignoring it, like he knew it was there, but just wouldn’t say...a word.

He never said a word so silently it was often the loudest sound in the room. He could drive her loony with it.

Her feelings about Spike ranged from the purest love to the most detestable jealousy. If only he would see that she was perfect for him; at the very least it would stop this strange thing he had for Buffy.

Her older sister. Her college-bound pain in the ass. She loved and admired Buffy, but her older sister got on her very nerves. Buffy this, Buffy that. You can do this, Dawn, but you can’t do that, because Buffy said so.

Sometimes, when she was feeling very put upon, Dawn wondered out loud just who really was in charge of the house - Mom or Buffy?

And why didn’t anybody take _her_ feelings seriously? What did they think she was, some stupid little teenager?

She could be a strong woman! She could be a wise and mature person! She’d show them! Even if she had to sneak right out of the house to see that movie! She had to, of course; it was a John Cusack flick, and what teenage girl didn’t feel a thump in the heart (or other gooey areas) from that?

Dawn threw herself on her bed, putting her head in her hands. Grown-ups. They’d get all older than you and think they knew everything, when they really knew less and less as they went along.

Adulthood? They could have it.

 

 

 

 

 

Somewhere in the night, a falcon was searching...

 


	5. Dualities

Making her way to her dorm room, Tara just couldn’t get the sight of the falcon out of her mind.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She couldn’t get the essence of Willow out of her mind. It was like a constant aphrodisiac, and while Tara felt a deeper, purer love for Willow for many different reasons, she was also enjoying the lustfully innocent part of their affair.

But the falcon thing did preoccupy her.

She also felt sure that she knew Joshua from somewhere, too. He felt familiar to her, comfortable, known, but she didn’t have a clue as to why.

Her whole head was filled with a jumble of magical mysteries tonight.

Which was why she collided straight into -

**...BRIGHT*WHITE*SCREAM*RAGE*PAIN*TRAPPED...**

\- Angie.

Tara steadied herself, feeling her body about to tumble over in a loss of balance.

The images, the shocks, they just -

Vanished. Leaving her with sickening sensations -

“Oh! Oh! Tara! I’m so sorry; I should have watched where I was going! Are you okay?”

A stunned Tara recovered her balance, putting some space between herself and the -

It was just Angie. Little ole Angie from the Wiccan group meetings.

“Hi,” Tara whispered.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Angie blathered on, quite unaware that she was receiving only marginal attention from the young witch. “Got a lot on our mind today.”

“Sure, that’s uh, uh, okay.” Tara’s sense of clarity was returning to her…Wasn’t she just… _in some sort of vortex spiral? And where was the chorus?_

Tara smiled, hoping that would set things at ease -

Why was she thinking like this? Why did she feel outside of...?

“Say - Joshua was asking some questions about you. He wanted to know if he could speak with you tomorrow.” She started digging around in her purse.

\- A purse, Tara was sure, she didn’t have a moment ago -

“Uh, sure. That’ll be...that’ll be...Joshua?”

“You know, “Angie slyly whispered in a woman-to-woman way, “I think he was rather impressed with you. And I think he’s attracted to you, the little bird of prey!”

_No, I’m Willow’s, Willow’s only, I won’t join you..._

What was the matter with her?

Tara’s eyes grew wider. Somehow now wasn’t the time to talk about this sort of thing.

“Uh, great...I think,” Tara’s vision had now returned to normal. Why did she thought she had heard -

For some reason, Tara found herself backing up, while Angie just kept - plodding - menacing - forward, like a predator.

“Here’s his phone number. He’ll be in town for the next few days...OH! SAY!”

Wide-eyed against the sudden shouting, it was all Tara could do to keep from leaping out of her skin.

“Where was Willow today?”

_No - Willow will not belong to you - never -_

What in the hell was happening to her?

\- Her purse was...where was it? -

“She’ll be coming back, right?”

Tara nodded blankly, trying to get a grip on herself. She had felt - _something_ \- shift out of focus, out of place, out of this very _reality_ , as if she had physically walked into something that shouldn’t have been there...

“Sh-sh-she said she would. Se-sh-she h-had to do l-laundry today.”

“Oh, okay. Well, could you tell her that I’d like to speak with her?”

Angie edged a little closer, prompting Tara to step back farther. She was suddenly uncomfortable with Angie’s sudden closeness -

And then, the intrusive feeling stopped, as if Angie were merely a bookshelf.

…As if Tara hadn’t felt anything at all…

“I’d appreciate it if you could tell her.”

Tara struggled to keep a grip on herself.

“Sure,” she squeaked. She closed her eyes to clear the -

\- afterimages? -

Angie was gone.

Slowly, uncertain as to why, Tara felt herself began to breathe normally, and she fell back into the breathing exercise that Joshua had taught them that very afternoon.

Floods of emotions and impulses tumbled through her, warring within her for dominance. At the center of the morass was a fierce protectiveness of Willow, and a primal need to understand what she had just seen, or been a part of, or, whatever it was...

Tara ran for her dorm, just missing the sight of a sleek black falcon perched overhead.

 

 

 

 

 

Willow, meanwhile, was putting the finishing touches on a pineapple salad, grinning at her handiwork. She had tried looking up strange medieval recipes and exotic dishes, but she couldn’t find one that was simple enough to cook with what she had available. One thing she had learned - you can’t go wrong with noodles alfredo and pineapple salad.

Almost everything was as planned. Cooking wasn’t exactly allowed in the dorms, but students never admitted to it anyway, simply resolving to never get caught. Following in the paths of other college students before her, Willow had cobbled together a miniature cooking range and placed it on an unused shelf in Tara’s room. She bought bottled water to cook with, blessing it to give the meal that personal touch. She had just raided her parents’ house for groceries – they’d never miss them - and had gotten the fettuccine alfredo recipe from Mrs. Summers.

Joyce had been surprised to see Willow, but was glad for the company, and Willow got to talk to her favourite mom for the first time in a long while. She even began giving Willow select secrets on the alfredo sauce. She knew that Oz was no longer in the picture, but wasn’t sure why (probably distance issues or – gulp - intimacy issues, she’d thought to herself). Joyce knew she was cooking all this for for that Special Someone to Willow, but didn’t know who. Try as she might, she just couldn’t get Willow to give her specific information about this great new guy that she was seeing - though Joyce had noticed that she did talk about Tara a lot. Joyce liked Tara; she was glad that Willow had found a friend.

Soon, thought Willow nervously, I’m going to have to tell her, but I think she’ll understand -

The doorknob to Tara’s room began to shake, as though someone were breaking into it, sending Willow’s heart plunging down into her stomach.

Willow heard the key slide into the lock...

Willow smiled at the thought of surprising Tara with this dinner, and her heart went into her mouth instead.

The door opened to a shaking Tara, whose pale face sent shivers down Willow’s spine.

“Willow!” Tara shouted, running and practically leaping into Willow’s open arms.

Then, Willow felt it.

Something was wrong. Tara was shaking all over, like she was having a seizure -

But then Willow heard...

“You’re safe you’re safe you’re okay thank you Goddess thank you Mother, thank you God, thank you thank you thank you...”

Over and over, as if it were a spell she dare not stop incantating.

The thanksgiving mantra kept on, under her breath, punctuated by short breaths and quiet sobbing. Willow gently eased back to see her in tears.

The disturbing sight burned itself into Willow’s heart.

“Tara? Tara? What’s wrong, baby? I’m right here, Tara, I’m right here...”

 


	6. Dualities

It had taken a while for tranquility to arrive again. Eventually, Tara had calmed down, holding onto her lifeline for half an hour, in silence.

Willow didn’t know what to say, and she was worried by what she had seen, but she continued to hold Tara, unconcerned about the time. In their world, it was just them. They had all night to talk; Willow was finally beginning to understand the value of silence and its powerful results - Tara would talk to her when she was ready, and Willow would listen.

Minutes passed into the infinite in this tense moment, this intense emotional dynamic, until Tara spoke.

“Y-you-you’re safe.”

Willow nodded. “I sure am, thanks to you.”

“M-me?”

“Yeah, it’s getting cold out there,” she rubbed her hands down Tara’s back, hoping to pass on some sort of strength and calm to her. “I could use the warmth,” she breathed. “So could you.”

_She has no idea,_ Tara thought as she nuzzled against Willow’s neck. _I’ve got to tell her -_

_What? What could I possibly say?_ I _have no idea what just happened to me..._

“Yeah,” Tara surrendered. “I definitely could.”

“I’ve got dinner ready. I think you’ll like it.”

Tara dropped her coat onto the floor. “I’m sure I’ll like it if you made it,” she whispered.

And all began to settle. The peaceful air of the room, her sanctum, her nearness to her Willowness - everything would be fine. Relaxation was beginning to make its way into her life again.

“How does fettuccine alfredo sound?”

Tara let go. Maybe she was just...imagining things. Maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe it was just the Hellmouth that Willow and Xander kept talking about. Maybe it was something else altogether.

“It sounds awesome,” she said.

“Are you sure you’re okay,” Willow asked.

“Yeah, it must be - I don’t know. But I’ll be okay. Really.”

“Well, relax. I’m going to wow you with my suddenly acquired skill at tasteful meal preparation. I made us a pineapple salad with cottage cheese and all the trimmings. I also got the only dessert for a couple of heathen pagans like us,” Willow’s beaming face breathed life into her reading of the menu.

The “heathen pagan” reference set Tara slightly on edge, for some unknown reason. “Like what”

“Magic Chocolate Ice Cream, fresh from the Summers’ freezer. And let me tell you - THAT was a magic trick all in and of itself.”

Tara relaxed, willing to let go of the...visions?...and to just be taken in by the need - and the want - to be near this vision of beauty.

“How about we have some dinner, and then, we can do anything you’d like?”

“Anything?” Tara breathed quietly, deeply into Willow’s ear.

“Anything,” promised Willow, holding out her hand.

Tara nodded. “Sure. Dinner sounds great.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Good, then. Let’s eat. I haven’t had any in a few days.”

“The other locals say they don’t eat much since the Slayer’s been here.”

“Here? This is a college campus!”

“What, did ya think she’d stay in high school forever? From what I hear it was her and some of her buddies that set fire to the place and buried the mayor.”

“College-age Slayers. I wonder what they’ll come up with next!”

Neither Leric nor Absyn had eaten for a few days. News like the Slayer tended to travel fast in certain circles. They had only just managed to avoid last year’s cabal of lameass military wannabes, the Initiative, but not before finding out that said lameass wannabes had developed Super Taser rifle technology. Pyramos had gone screaming to their cages thanks to those rifles, and had never come out. In fact, no one had come back out since the Initiative had cleared out of there, though once again there were those pesky rumours about the Slayer being in the middle of it all. She was still around.

The Hellmouth was getting the reputation of a roach motel: you may come here, but you may not get to leave. Devil only knows how the Slayer survived out here, Absyn thought.

And that was a concern; a Slayer surviving year after year out here had definitely put a crimp into some great arrangements that all the local vamps had had going. They had to replenish their numbers on a regular basis; since she kept killing the best vampires, there were fewer and fewer of any quality to take their places. And Spike - well, forget that softening, feeble old traitorous fool. Nobody even thought of him as worth that much of a bother.

Yep. Things were getting tougher and tougher out here on the Hellmouth, as most of the vampires had to admit, to themselves if no one else, that the Slayer was sure doing her job. It was a grudging respect that ended up getting you dusty if you weren’t careful.

“I see some likely food,” said Leric. “A family of five. We could dine like kings tonight. Just over that hill, in the park.”

“I see some couples making out over here,” responded Absyn absently. “More of our guys are coming down from the big city. You know, to pay respects. Feed for all of us.”

A soft, velveteen sensation in his neck made him lose balance and fall over.

It was only in the last moment that he realised he was missing the rest of his body. Within mere moments, he was ash.

Leric whirled around, chuckling. “So, at last, the Sla- HUH?”

Before him stood a tall dark form with a savage, feral-looking slashing/cutting weapon. Who or whatever it was...

“You’re not the Slayer!”

“No. I’m not,” a gravelly deep baritone purred out.

Leric roared with pleasure as he hefted his ever present bronze pipe, the weapon of choice for a suburban vampire of his temperament. Leric loved a good beating.

And that was just what he got before he, too, was dust.

Too bad he didn’t look behind him, thought the dark form.

 

 

* * *

Dinner was going well, Tara having pushed away the visions. For the most part.

Willow was a bit worried. Tara hadn’t opened up about what had upset her. But she was willing to wait, or even let it go altogether, seeing as how everything seemed to be okay now.

_Maybe she just missed me,_ thought Willow.

No, something deeper within Willow answered. Something happened to her. Something was done to her. To MY Tara.

_I wonder if this is what its like to have a soul mate..._

“The noodles are great, Willow,” Tara said, playing with a few on her fork before slurping them up into her mouth.

“Thanks,” said Willow shyly, slurping up a few noodles herself. They smiled at the simple childlike joy of playing with food. “I burned the first few bags. So, how was your quiz today?”

“Not too bad; I got through it okay. I think I did well. How did fighting the piles of laundry go?”

Willow sighed. “They totally kicked my ass. Laundry four, Willow zero.” She paused, hoping to float painlessly through the next part of the dialogue. “Was the Wiccan group any good today?”

Tara froze at the question, wincing, her eyes suddenly miles away...

_Oh, that was stupid,_ thought Willow.

Tara recalled the visions, but kept calm.

“You know, I wanted to talk to you about that,” she whispered.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like I – “ Willow paused, unable to articulate her next thought, then soldiered on. “I promise, I’ll be there next time.”

Willow looked to Tara nervously, hoping this wasn’t going to be their first “official” argument.

The visions seized Tara again...

“No!” shouted Tara at nothing. “I can’t let you go! I can’t let you go back there! You could -” She stopped, caught up in the flashback of the encounter with -

\- Angie? -

Willow froze, absorbing the sight of Tara’s desperate, faraway gaze.

“Tara? I’m sorry,” Willow squeaked.

Tara recovered, seeing Willow’s concerned look.

_My Goddess, she’s afraid for me, and she’s hanging on my every word. What do I tell her?_

Tara thought again of Angie, of what she had seen.

_If Angie was...something...other...than human...something...else..._

_Then..._

_I can’t,_ Tara thought, taking a confused Willow into her arms. _She and Buffy and Giles and all the others are always looking out for people, for other people, and they’re always in danger. She doesn’t need this. I can’t do this to her._

_I won’t do this to her._

“Tara? What is it? You’re…this is scaring me.”

_I love her,_ thought Tara. _I’ll do anything for her. I’ll do anything to protect her._

_I’ll live for her, and I’ll die for her._

_Angie’s...wrong...somehow...what do I say -_

“I don’t know if I’m going back. I kind of doubt it, I don’t think I, I will.”

Willow gazed up into Tara’s face, seeing a serious, loving, defensive expression.

_This was it? THIS?_ Willow thought. _This is why she was upset? I don’t get it..._

_Well, she’s been in this group for a while..._

Willow waited for Tara to say something else.

“You mean, you’re not going to the Wiccan group meetings anymore? But Tara, you love it so much...”

“Yes. No. I mean - I mean, yes, the group is what I mean; no, I’m not going back there. I don’t want to go back.”

Willow gaped, lost amidst confusion. Tara’s eyes seemed to want to say so much more.

“Is something wrong, Tara?”

Tara shook her head, a little too quickly for Willow’s liking.

“Was - was meditation that bad?”

The change in subject threw Tara off balance. “Meditation? Oh, oh no,” she smiled, relaxing a little, thinking of Joshua and Kelly - and the falcon. “That was fine. The guy that taught it was really - really nice and all,” Tara’s eyes unfocussed, recalling Joshua’s unique presence. “But -”

“Guy? You didn’t tell me that a _guy_ was teaching it,” Willow said quietly.

_My God,_ Willow thought, hearing herself. _I’m jealous!_

_So this is what jealousy really feels like..._

“Wa-wait,” Tara stuttered, panicking. Why was this happening? “I - I don’t kn- know that she was a he until I got th- there, and, and, and, he’s okay. He’s not the one who knocked me out of whack, and he, he, he was really nice to me, it’s – it’s – it’s Angie that -” She started shivering, lowering her eyes, hoping Willow’s anger would abate soon.

It was her vulnerability that had broken Willow of her anger; Willow felt so ashamed, foolish even. Her heart just broke at seeing Tara lower her eyes.

_I didn’t mean -_ thought Willow. I’ve _, I’ve got to fix this!_

Willow took a deep breath, resolving to do whatever it took to set things right.

“Tara? Tara, I’m, I’m so sorry,” she whispered to her, leaning over her to hug her close to her. “I, didn’t mean to, to, oh, you know, I didn’t mean to get all -”

Tara clung to her tightly, eager to get through - whatever this was.

They held onto each other for some time, calming down and silently forgiving each other. In each others’ arms, everything would always be all right. They could handle anything.

“Willow? I need to tell you some things, but first, I, I, I need to find out some things, okay? I need to find out some things on my own, first, and then I’ll tell you, okay?”

“Is this about us?”

“No,” Tara said. “No, it’s about…I don’t know. I think something is wrong with…someone’s,” She paused, trying to frame the words without shuddering. “I think it has something to do with magic.”

“Oh,” said Willow. She didn’t quite understand, but she trusted this woman. She trusted her with her body, her heart, and her soul. She would do anything for her, she would follow her anywhere.

She remembered reading an adage somewhere, and it popped up in her mind just now, somehow unbidden: “Don’t be helpful; be available.”

Willow understood.

“It’s okay, love,” nodded Willow. “I’m here. I’ll be here when you need me. Always.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

“That makes fourteen,” said Joshua.

He was standing in a park, somewhere right outside the local Sunnydale college. He was dressed in a loose-fitting martial arts gi, one which had obviously seen plenty of use, the bloodstains a testimony of the battles it bore witness to.

A darker form materialised beside him, wearing even stranger clothing, with a feral, bestial bearing.

“Fourteen too many,” the darker form growled.

“They won’t be feeding on anyone anymore.”

“Indeed not,” the bestial man snarled. “They thought slaughter would be a laughing matter. I hope they’re laughing down in Hell. I hear it’s a bitch this time of year.” He gazed into the night in moody contemplation. “Not even worth much beyond a beheading or a staking. And did you see those ugly faces?”

Joshua considered the visage of his own companion. “And who are _you_ to be calling them ugly?”

“Who are _you_ calling ugly, kid? I am a most handsome Emperor. My face is a most regal, majestic visage, that of a true warrior, born and bred for battle! Mortals cower before me, and multitudes of women throw themselves at my feet! I am a handsome Emperor - certainly, at least, compared to those things.” He sighed to himself, lamenting the lack of real enemies to fight. “They don’t make vampires like they used to, you know. One stake through the heart and they go all to pieces.”

“Yes,” said Joshua thoughtfully, ignoring his companion’s vanity and derring-do. “I noticed that. A new subspecies, perhaps? Or a local mutation?”

“There’s a strange entropic energy field radiating from somewhere under here,” mused the monstrous titan. “Anyway, who cares? So long as they perish! The Wheel turns.”

Joshua nodded. He remembered.

“During the confrontation,” Joshua said, “I scanned their minds. These things were expecting to fight someone.”

“They fought someone all right,” spat the Emperor. “And they paid handsomely for the privilege.”

“Yes, but they were expecting someone _else_ to combat them. A woman.”

“I noticed that. Just what I like: a rough and tough woman who can do some damage. I could use a worthy sparring partner.”

The two stood and surveyed the ashes of the fallen undead.

“I can hardly wait to meet her!”

Joshua frowned. Given what he knew of the circumstances, the way fate played his life, and his companion’s many talents, he knew intuitively that the bestial Emperor just might get his wish.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Xander didn’t know how this could have happened.

He was an hour late now; he briefly thought of calling the Magic Box, but he hadn’t wanted to lose track of the vampires he was following. Hopefully he could get some information to give Buffy, maybe even stake them himself.

Well, actually...

He’d spent this long following them; obviously he wasn’t going to stake them, or he would have already done so and died. And he quite liked living. So, he kept his distance.

He had followed them past the Bronze, a few houses in a nearby suburb, and now they had ended up just off the campus in a playground. It looked like they were meeting other vampires there (Well, who else did vampires hang out with?). And then, when all four were together, he had seen them disappear, one by one, seemingly fought by some hidden force.

He thought it was Buffy, but he hadn’t seen her or heard her witty, droll battle dialogue. All he heard were screams; Buffy usually caused those, so he waited. But then he didn’t see her.

He’d have to ask her about that.

_Great, Xander. No information, you’re late for meeting Buffy, and you didn’t even stake any. Way to go, Fuzzball._

Feeling useless and deciding enough was enough, he made his way back to his car -

“Excuse me.”

He had stopped just short of running into someone - a very tall Native Amerindian, from the look of him. Wearing what was definitely non-tribal issue: a black martial arts gi.

“Sorry,” Xander muttered vaguely in his direction. “That’s quite all right.” replied the stranger. He walked on.

Sarcastically, Xander muttered under his breath, just loud enough for no one else to hear, “Wouldn’t happen to have seen any vampires, have you, Buddy?”

“Yes.”

Xander froze, his blood exiting his extremities rather quickly, his spine tingling from base to brain. Yes, his brain registered, he had heard it, and had not imagined it.

Xander turned around to find the Amerindian again...

He was gone.

Xander scrambled back to his car to get to the Magic Box, finding the mysterious red man nowhere in sight. But he did find the body of a dead demon by the passenger door of his car, decaying rapidly.

 


	8. Dualities

Now, Buffy was getting impatient.

“It’s been over an hour, Giles. Where could he be?”

“Well, I had Anya call the office he works out of, but they’ve all gone home. He probably just had to stop and get something to eat. And,” he said, panting from experience and hunger, “A snack break wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“Just don’t eat too much; my Mom is cooking for us all tonight, remember?”

“Oh, oh yes,” said Giles, a tad uncomfortably. Even an enema would be more comfortable than the thought of having dinner with Buffy’s mother tonight.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Joyce; he truly did. He found her warm, generous, humourous, attractive...

I need to deal with this, thought Giles.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he lied smoothly. “Will Tara and Willow be joining us?”

“I don’t know, but I think so. If they can get away from each other for a few seconds,” she said laughingly, rolling her eyes. “They’ll join us later. They should be eating right now.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Where the hell is Xander?”

Anya was counting the money - something she did all the time now, just for good luck - when Xander stormed in.

“Hey there, Hot Buns. How did the Slaving Away Thing go today?”

Xander’s face lit up like an evil Christmas tree.

“Fine. Great. How did the Proclamation of our personal sex life to my employer and my colleagues go today?”

Anya laughed, unaware of the damaged ego that she was beating into submission through the hardwood flooring. “Oh, it went fine. They think very highly of you now, you know. You’re like some kind of sex god to them, now. You definitely owe me for this.”

Xander eyes widened in fury. After all, the least she could have done was not to do it at all...

“Did I brag well,” inquired Anya, unaware that she was making him angrier by the second. “I know a lot of guys have certain, well, certain standards of bragging that -”

She stopped as his face prepared for liftoff.

“Uh, did, uh, did I- ” Gulp. “Did I do something wrong,” she

whispered.

It was at this moment that Xander should have taken a moment to catch a breath and calm down. So, naturally, he didn’t.

“Let me get back to you on that,” snapped Xander. “As it is, I’m late for my daily pain.” He threw open the door to the training room, slamming it shut in an effort to work off his bad temper.

“So, _there’s_ my Xander-shaped bud,” teased Buffy. “Are you okay? We noticed that you were a bit late.”

Xander gave up even trying to be mad at Buffy; she just doused away all of his fires. He had never stopped loving Buffy, and never would, merely moving the fires to a forest WAY out in the back. But they burned nevertheless, and he could never be truly angry around her. So, he settled for sarcasm instead. “So beat me for it.” His rictus grin masked his pent-up frustration - he hoped.

A sharp cough from Giles and a weird smile from Buffy helped calm Xander even further.

“Oooo-kaaayy, Xander. Really,” she smiled. “Not getting enough action at home, huh? I thought Anya was a lot for you to handle.”

“What, has she told you too?! She’s told everybody else! My boss thinks I have more woman action than I can stand! And now, some other girl has come up to my work while I was out to lunch proclaiming her desire for my wood!”

Buffy blushed and quickly turned away, hoping Xander hadn’t noticed. Giles simply stared, unsure as to what had put Xander so out of sorts with himself.

“So,” Xander launched onto a safer subject. “Have any trouble with the slayage tonight?”

Buffy froze. “Slayage? Huh?”

“Well, you left the body right by my car, Buff. I thought it was just your little hint not to be late from now on. Really, I got the message loud and clear -”

“Wait. Wait. What are you talking about?”

Silence erupted as the three of them ran headlong into a wall.

“Well, that’s the second reason why I was late. I saw some vamps and thought I’d try to get some info. But I lost track of them. And I found a dead demon right beside my car. Just thought it was your handiwork.”

“You lost them,” Buffy deadpanned.

“What was the first reason you were late,” asked a curious Giles.

“I am so not going there.” Xander snapped back nastily.

Giles backed away, unwilling to invoke Xander’s newfound wrath any further. “Okay, no going there, then,” said Giles.

“What exactly happened,” asked Buffy, trying to get back on track.

“You mean you don’t know? You weren’t there?” Xander stared at her. Seeing her shake her head, he went on. “They went into this wooded area of the park over near the college campus. But then, they never came out again. I spotted them as I was leaving work. When I got back to my car after losing them, I saw the dead demon. I figured it was you.”

“I haven’t done any slaying today,” said Buffy thoughtfully. “It was still light out when I got here. You didn’t see anyone else following them, Xander?”

“No, not at all,” he said. He looked down at the bag of stakes-to-be that had started all of this. “You asked for these?”

Buffy took the bag, eyeing the contents. Buffy smiled, knowing some of what he went through to get these for her. At least, more than she was telling. She favoured him with her generous smile, the one she saved for special occasions. “Thanks, Xander. You’re the wind beneath my wings. At least, the lifting westerly currents, anyway.”

“I try,” he sighed.

“I wonder what this means,” said Giles, cleaning his glasses. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

“So do I.”

“Free market competition, perhaps,” joked Xander.

“Free what? No. Couldn’t be. Who would want my job?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_IT’S NOT TOO LATE THEN?_

 

“ _No, my Lady. They both carry the Power.”_

 

_SO THEY CAN BE REASONED WITH. THEY CAN BE TAUGHT._

 

“ _And we have no choice. We’ll need them both.”_

 

_BOTH, YOU SAY..._

 

“ _Yes, my Lady. After all, what is the price of Sanity for two when compared to the safety of the Tellurian?”_

 

_PRACTICALLY NOTHING._

 

“ _Yes,” she shivered, remembering her own loss of Sanity._

 

_TAKE THE WITCH. LEAVE THE SORCERESS UNLESS THEY WILL NOT ABANDON EACH OTHER._

 

“ _And if the Reasoning doesn’t work?”_

 

_THEN THEY WILL BE FORCED._

 

_She nodded. This had been discussed before._

 

“ _Besides,” they thought,_ _I’VE_ _“been looking”_ _FORWARD_ _“to”_ _WORKING_ _“with”_ _THEM._

 

 


	9. Dualities

_The circle was complete, warm and inviting..._

The meditation exercises she had looked up in preparation for this class had taught Tara much. Unexpectedly, Joshua had given her a few simple steps in the class to boost what she already knew.

Now, she went deep within herself. She knew that the answers - some of them, at least - always lay within...

 

 

 

 

Joshua stirred from his meditations, trying to sense...

Who was there?

He instinctively felt around within the room, but, sure enough, no one else was physically present.

So, who was there?

Hello?

He focused, concentrated, allowing the waves to wash over him and leave him with the information he sought.

It felt - familiar, but different. As if he knew the essence thinking the thoughts, but not the thoughts themselves. As if the thoughts were different, coming from a different pathway, a different road. As if the essence had traveled from a land other than its origin.

He had almost touched the answer, but he had tried too hard. He should have known not to do that. He did know not to do that, but had lost his patience. Such an error could get him distracted, and distractions could do irreparable harm, to himself and others.

He also felt something else. There was a new malignance in the town, a powerful presence. It was able to mask itself from everyone else, but not from his rarified senses. While psychics and witches would tune into the different thoughtwaves, he would tune into the sources. What was discouraging was how simple it was to take this leap, yet how few were truly willing to make the leap.

_So many lives,_ he considered. _So little progress._

Yet Joshua was an optimist, for he knew exactly what he went through in order to reach this level himself. And he knew that if he could do this, than others would, eventually. Humanity would not lose, as it often thought it would.

But it would take longer to return. Meru was a long way away.

Two falcons - one grey-brown and one black - flew into his window. They perched themselves atop the chair the hotel had thoughtfully provided for Joshua’s use.

_It is here. It is aware. It searches. It finds something._

Joshua nodded. Where humans tried to reach naturally, Helios and Skyclaw already made their homes there. He smiled at the simplicity of the lesson. Were more people to truly watch animals to see what animals would teach them, the race would evolve a lot faster.

He paused to hear their thoughts.

_But it finds only part of what it needs._

Well, thought Joshua to himself. That’s different.

Joshua was unsure of how to proceed next.

Joshua listened intently, to a voice only he could hear.

_How does the soul guide thee?_

How, indeed.

Joshua relaxed himself into meditation, going even deeper.

 

 

 

 

_TARAMYBEAUTYMYDARLING_

 

Tara found what she had sought...

 

_MYPUPPETMYMASTERMYMATE_

 

She found the voices of the strange visions. And they frightened her.

 

_THESAVIOURTHEHOLYGHOSTMYHOST_

 

She was having trouble breaking away now that she had found them. She needed help.

 

_Willow, my love, please...hear me..._

 

_THEFATHERTHESONALLINONE_

 

_Help me, Willow, I can’t...I can’t do this alone -_

 

_MYGODDESSMYWITCHMYPOWERSWITCH_

 

_Willow, please..._

 

_Tara?_

 

_WILLOWMYSLAVEMYKEYMYGRAVE_

 

 

 

 

 

Willow felt herself being called, and rushed over to where Tara was kneeling. She had been totally silent and still before, but now she was shaking; Willow swore she heard echoes of voices - whole choirs of them - just outside the range of where normal hearing turned into something other...

She felt herself being drawn in -

 

 

 

_POWERMYGIRLSMYGODDESSIAMALIVEWEARETHEWYLDTHECREATORSTHECREATIONMEDEAASCENSIONINSANITYCHANGEREARRANGEMAGICOFTHESPHERESTHEFEARSTHEYEARSTHETEARSJASONTHATUNGRATEFULINGRATENEGATETHEFATETOOLATETHELIGHTTHESHININGTHEENERGYBRIGHTENINGGLOWOFTHEEYEOFTHESKYOFTHECRYINMEFLYTOMEIAMBECOMEYOUWILLBECOMEME_

 

 

 

Willow finally woke them up.

Tara’s face - BOTH of their faces - were brimming with fear.

“Willow?”

“I’m okay. I think,” Her head was swimming with the surge of visions from...somewhen. “Tara, did this - _this_ \- thing call out to you today?”

Tara nodded. She had no choice. She had to talk.

 

 

 

 

 

Willow’s eyes widened with almost every word.

Tara’s eyes were still moist as she drew a huge breath, finishing her tale. “So then I ran here. I just wanted to make sure that –”

“It’s okay, Tara,” she smiled, in spite of everything.

Tara was wondering if any of this had gotten through to Willow. Her frustration finally gave way.

“How can you be calm and happy at a time like this?”

Willow’s smile turned even bigger. “Because you’re here, with me,” she said. “I can feel how much I mean to you.”

Tara blushed, couldn’t help but smile at that.

“I hope you know you mean as much to me,” Willow whispered to her, pulling her close to her.

Tara nodded, then pulled away as she began to pace the floor. “Willow, what are we going to do about this? Can we even DO anything about this?”

Willow had been thinking about that. It was their night together, but...with this...

“Let me just give Giles a ring -”

They leaped as the phone rang.

For a brief moment, they were both afraid to answer.

Willow warily picked up the phone.

“Hello? Tara McClay’s room?”

“Willow?”

“Giles?”

“Uh, yes, Willow, is that you?”

“Giles! I was just about to call!”

Momentarily taken aback by the excitement in her voice from hearing from him, Giles smiled. “Really? That’s great,” he said, his current reason for calling sidetracked.

“Tara and I just shared some whacked out vision that tried to kill us!”

“Oh. Oh. That’s, uh, that’s not so great.”

 


	10. Dualities

Giles had put out the “out for lunch: back in 20 mins” sign on the door, and met the rest of the Scoobies in the Weapons Room.

...Where Anya was banging a hammer on the practise dummy until she had everyone’s attention. It didn’t take long. No one likes being banged at.

“Okay, I would like to declare this meeting officially opened. Giles - I believe you have the floor?”

The entire room, floors and all, stared at her.

“Yes, well, uh, thank you, Anya, that was - perfectly irrelevant.”

Anya swelled with pride. She had never been called irrelevant before. Obviously she was making progress as a human. No one even thought to mention her ex-demonessness much these days. They were beginning to see her as “one of them.”

Xander kept waiting for the torture to stop, found that it wouldn’t, and decided to focus on Giles.

“According to Xander,” said Giles, taking the matter in hand, “someone’s been out slaying vampires earlier this evening.”

“And a demon,” Xander pointed out.

“Yes, and a demon,” Giles repeated.

“ _Without_ an Official Slayer License” added Buffy.

“Right, uh, sans the requisite paperwork,” Giles muttered. Already he was reaching for his glasses and a handkerchief.

“While spreading visions of her plan to kill _my_ girlfriend,” Tara leaped in, her shouting startling everyone.

“I, uh, trust that everyone got that part,” sighed Giles.

Everyone else stared at the normally reclusive witch, who was usually so silent, except for Willow, still bowled over by Tara’s devotion.

The object of the prophecies of death merely smiled and hugged Tara closer to her breast, beaming to the room.

“She loves me,” Willow gushed.

Buffy smiled warmly at Willow’s happiness. Anya wanted to vomit. Giles scratched his head. Xander rolled his eyes.

“Those crazy college gals,” said Xander. “So, what do we deal with first?”

“Tara,” Willow cooed gently. “Let’s come back to the vision thingie later, okay, Babe?”

Tara nodded, and put on a brave face. “I’m sorry, I just -”

“It’s okay,” Buffy reassured her, patting her on the shoulder. “I can relate. I’ve been doomed and gloomed over myself.” Her face grew stormy with memories.

“So, someone else is out there slaying vampires, too” said Anya, facing Buffy. “Well, that’s rather nice of them.” She smiled, thereby indicating that they should all look at this most recent development in a positive light.

One look at the crowd quietly informed Anya that no one else shared her opinion.

“So,” said Anya, in an attempt to erase the last few moments from everyone’s brain. “It’s a woman that’s been out there killing vampires?”

“Do we know that it’s a woman,” asked Giles. He turned to Xander.

“You didn’t see who killed the vampires OR the demon, right, Xander?

Xander shook his head.

“So,” said Giles. “It could be anybody, then.”

“Or any _thing_ ,” said Buffy.

“Well that’s not very comforting,” whined Anya.

“No,” said Willow, remembering the visions. “Not what I would call good news.”

“But, it’s not all bad, right?” Tara asked, still a bit new to the Sunnydale experience. Until she had met Willow, she hadn’t run into much in the way of the usual Hellmouth Horrors. “I mean, more people slaying vampires make the world a more monster-free place – shouldn’t it?”

“Not always,” sulked Buffy. “Sometimes the cure is as bad as the disease.”

The spectre of Faith hung in the air. Xander found himself avoiding Willow’s face. Willow began to choke down painful memories. Giles found that he hated the colour of the ceiling, settled for staring at the floor, and didn’t like that colour any better. Buffy found herself drowning in the oceans of if-onlys and what-might-have-beens.

Not for the first time, Anya and Tara noticed all of this, and wondered if they would ever know all of the little stories behind the avoided looks and painful mementos.

“Well,” Giles whispered, eager to get things back on track again, “Precluding the possibilities of yet another Slayer, vampire or demon, I think we could safely assume that whoever this is, they are most likely human.” He paused, recalling some of the sights he had seen on the Hellmouth. “Or vaguely human-shaped, anyway.”

“Why couldn’t it be another vampire,” asked Tara. “This all started at sunset, right, Xander?” Xander nodded in response to her. “And you guys told me about Angel, and Spike – maybe there are others like them.”

Willow shook her head, remembering all that had happened before.

“Because vampires like to feed,” Buffy said tightly. “And, in order to do that, they have to remain upright. So they tend to leave each other alone, sort of a ‘I won’t fang you if you won’t stake me’ policy. They don’t like anyone messing with their dinner. Demons do the same thing. Individual vampires and demons don’t like each other, and they don’t get all buddy-buddy even at the dinner table. But they do stay out of each others’ way.”

“They know what Buffy’ll do to them when she finds them,” added Xander.

“And Angel has a tormented soul, so there’s no other vamp like him,” added Anya. “And Spike can no longer have the main course and has to get table scraps. Vamp blood and pigs’ blood are the closest to the real thing either of them can get.”

“Oh,” sighed Tara. She wondered if she would ever get all this stuff straight.

“So what do we do?” Xander was chomping at the bit.

“Research,” Giles quietly inquired of Willow.

“Well, there is something out there that’s just threatened Tara, and it’s threatened me now, too. I don’t know if it’s doing in all the vampires, but if it is, I want to know about it. So I hate to say it, but I say yes.” Willow turned to Tara. “I know it’s our night together, but if it gets you -”

“Only if I can stay with you too,” Tara relented. “And there’s got to be something I can do to help.”

“There is,” said Buffy. “Xander, you and I will go for a little stroll. That might turn up something. Tara, we could use another pair of eyes. After all – if it can get at you two, who’s to say it won’t get the rest of us?”

They nodded, as Xander stepped over to the weapons locker. “I’ve still got our walkie-talkies.”

“And I’ve got fresh batteries for them,” said Giles, as he joined Xander at the locker.

“But,” interrupted Anya. “What if it _is_ that thing that attacked Tara? If you take Tara with you, you’ll just be creating another weakness.” She turned to Giles. “If she stays with Willow here, they at least have a chance at defending themselves.”

The group stopped, as it considered this point.

Tara looked to Buffy for her answer.

Buffy nodded. “Okay - she could be right. We don’t know if they’re the same or not. And we don’t know where to start...”

Willow’s face lit up with inspiration.

“Hey! Tara could scry for us!”

“She could what,” asked a bewildered Buffy.

The phone rang. Giles quietly signaled Anya to answer it.

“I don’t know, Willow. I’ve only tried it once,” said Tara.

“Have some faith in yourself, Babe. I do.”

Tara smiled uneasily.

“And so does Buffy,” Willow said, tossing the ball over to her best friend.

Caught up in the action, Buffy shared with Tara the nervous smile of commiseration. “And, so do I. So – what’s this scrying thing that you were talking about?”

Tara shrugged. “It’s sort of like a magical surveillance camera. If I know where you’re going, I can kind of see it like from a bird’s eye view. And I’ll need some help from Willow.”

Xander looked at Buffy. “She could watch our backs without leaving the shop.”

Buffy nodded. “Sounds cool to me. We’ll use the walkie-talkies to keep in touch with her.”

“I say we start at the campus and work our way around,” said Buffy. “That’s where Xander saw them, so perhaps they stay in the area.”

Anya walked in.

“Anya,” called out Giles.

“Yes, Boss,” asked a slightly excited Anya, eager to help.

“Start checking the sales receipts, please, as well as the inventory logs for the last two weeks or so. Maybe our erstwhile demon killer came through our doors and purchased something we had that would’ve helped them.”

Anya sighed loudly, obviously less than impressed with her assigned task, but going anyway. “I should be getting overtime,” she muttered, just loud enough for everyone who was Giles to hear.

“What a generous girl,” remarked Giles sarcastically. He turned to Buffy. “I’ll get the materials needed for the scrying spell – I’ve always been rather curious to see one work.”

Anya turned right around. “Oh, guys, wait! Buffy’s mom just called. She wanted to remind us that dinner will be ready in an hour and a half. I told her we might be just a few minutes late. And Willow, she wants you to come and bring your new -” She hesitated, thinking of what Joyce had told her. “You have told her you’re a flaming lesbo yet, right?”

Xander threw up his hands in embarrassment. “All bow before Anya, former Patron Saint of Scorned Women, now reigning Queen of Tactlessness and Insensitivity everywhere. Here all week, two shows nightly.” With that, he began to load up the weapons, grinding his teeth all the while.

“I was going to tell her today,” said Willow, panicking. “but she got to talking about food and stuff. But, I’ll tell her tonight,” she said, taking Tara’s hand and holding her gaze, her best “Please Forgive Me” Puppy Dog look on display.

“It’s okay, Willow,” Tara nodded in understanding. “It’s a big step for you, for both of us. Take some time to think about how you say it, if at all.” Tara squeezed her hand.

Their friends silently voted in support of the two young lovers, giving them reassuring looks. Tara and Willow drew strength from the encouragement around them.

“Thanks, guys,” Willow said gratefully. “We’ll never forget this.” She turned to Tara. “We’ll do it tonight. In front of everybody,” Willow gushed.

The silence was nothing less than galvanising.

So was the snort of repressed laughter as several young adults and one older one, as well as one ex-demon, gave in to the need to vent their pent-up stress. There was no finer release as everyone went to their separate tasks, smiles in their hearts.

Tara and Willow exchanged lustful grins as they began to set up the weapons room for the scrying spell.

 


	11. Dualities

Quiet contemplation was interrupted by the phone.

He picked it up quickly. “Yes?”

“Sir, this is the front desk operator,”

“Indeed. I do recall asking not to be disturbed,” he said patiently, without anger.

“Yes sir, and I do apologise, but I have an international call from China on hold for you. He says it’s your father and that it’s an emergency. I know you asked not to be disturbed, Sir, but I thought you would wish to know.”

An eyebrow raised in the hotel room, the guest went looking for a sign and found the one intuition had told him would be there.

It wasn’t his father, but it may as well have been.

“I quite understand, and I thank you for your concern. I will hang up now; please send the call through.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

The phone rang just a moment later.

“Yes?”

"Bird-Of-Prey,” spoke the cultured voice on the other end.

“Sihing Lao,” he responded.

“I wish we could talk further, but that is difficult right now. I trust you know why. I have two messages for you.”

“I hear and will obey my Sifu’s wish.”

“Jou Chan has found the Fans of Wu Xian. They are in your area, in a store called the Magic Box. We do not know how they got there.”

“I recall walking by there. I shall pick them up directly.”

“The owner will not wish to part with them, but he is an honest, honourable man. And he will accept money for them.”

Reality shifted, as the air above the bed changed shape.

An object fell softly onto the bed.

“Use that to buy the fans.”

A wad of American currency lay on the bed, where before there was nothing. Joshua thumbed through it quickly.

“This is quite a bit, according to American standards.”

“He will need it. Get some history on their recent activities, if you can.”

“Understood. What else do I need to know?”

“Our seers have detected some unstable energies in your area. No doubt you have felt them too, but they now have a presence outside of time, which we have studied. And they center around a woman of your acquaintance.”

“Angie?”

A breath, then a pause. “I regret that this must be so.”

“And when you say unstable -”

“Yes, it’s possible.”

“I see. What is she doing here?”

“We have seen that she is trying to reach some people who live there. They should be warned that she is dangerous.”

“Who must I warn? I know no one else here by name, except for Angie.”

“We have the images of their essences.”

“Please send them.”

He felt energy from the phone travel through his hand and into his mind. He turned inward, focusing on the energy.

He saw their faces. He saw -

_Tara..._

_Her name is Tara, this time around...I know her…_

The pause and the slight inhalation of breath was enough to tell Sihing Lao what he needed to know.

“You know one of them,” he stated politely, almost nonchalantly.

“Yes.”

“Do you wish to tell me more?” Lao asked. Joshua noted that he was neither impatient, nor pushy.

“I regret that I cannot, Sifu. I need to leave. I will contact you soon.”

“Bird-Of-Prey, any assistance is yours for the asking.”

“Sifu, this too shall pass.”

He hung up the phone and left his hotel room.

Through the bathroom door.

 

 

 

 

 

The shop bell rang, announcing business.

Giles studied his watch. It was 7:23pm; the shop was due to close at 8:00pm. He continued his search through the Watchers’ Journals, half-preoccupied with other thoughts.

It was still a bit uncomfortable, being around Joyce, but he was beginning to get a grip on that now. He hoped that he could get over his difficulties; Joyce was a wonderful woman to be around, such a warm and giving human being.

More than once he had thought of her; more than once he had contemplated more than just a friendship with her...

His thoughts were jarred off their course when he saw the customer.

Giles nodded to him and smiled politely; the man nodded in return. All 6’4” of him.

Giles hadn’t met many Native Amerindians, as he thought of them, but he had studied some of their cultures and history. He had a vast amount of respect for the people they were, and was more than a little remorseful that his race had had some impact on changing their fate.

He sincerely hoped this one wasn’t Chumash.

He noticed that the man was wearing what appeared to be oriental combat clothing: a full black gi, with moccasins, no less. _How about that,_ he thought to himself.

A blending of cultures. Giles smiled at the intriguing idea of a Native American learning martial arts. Of course, Giles thought, he was probably an imposing-looking man even with different clothing.

Giles turned to see him walk straight to the weapons section of the store, then to the real magical items section.

\- On the back of the gi was a familiar looking symbol -

Memory tugged at him.

Giles unobtrusively walked over to his hidden books, near the cash register, his eyes scanning them for the two slim volumes that the Council of Watchers printed under their own aegis. The volumes contained rare but incomplete information, with the mandate that other Watchers should, in the course of their daily duties, contribute to solving the missing links. They were the Council’s insistence that there were plenty of unknowns in the world, and that the Watchers must know as much as possible to be of any use at all to humanity.

_An erroneous and foolish ideology now,_ reflected Giles bitterly.

Giles no longer felt the pangs of regret about his status with the Council. And, like them, he too still sought information. But, he decided, should he discover more about the symbol, then the Council can discover it too - on their own.

_They don’t need my help anymore,_ he thought.

The volumes didn’t have much; it was doubtful that they even had the symbol he was looking for. But he was sure that he had seen it before.

Probably need to look through more books.

It was then that he felt the presence right behind him.

He hadn’t heard so much as a breath.

“Excuse me,” said a deep, gravelly voice.

It was the customer.

Now that Giles was seeing him up close, Giles couldn’t miss the strange ridges in his forehead - obviously some sort of birth defect. He also couldn’t miss the tattoos on the arms and the piercing grey eyes.

_Wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley,_ thought Giles.

“I apologise for the intrusion,” He spoke in a discreetly quiet voice. “I see you become absorbed into the written word quite readily.”

“Oh. Yes,” Giles smiled gently. “Yes, I do. Can I help you?”

“Are you the owner here?”

“Yes, yes I am,” he glanced at Anya, studying the customer like a hawk. “On occasion, anyways. What can I do for you?”

“I don’t mean to trouble you; I was simply curious as to how you came across these.”

He held up two metallic rods.

Giles barely recovered from the shock in time.

This man, whoever he was, knew his talismans.

“Y-yes,” said Giles a bit nervously. “I’m sorry, I - I had to think for a moment. These are the Fans of Xian Yeezhang. Also known as Wu Xian, if memory serves. We’ve been very proud to have these in our collection for a long time. They were here before I took over as the owner, so I’m afraid I don’t know exactly how we acquired them, or their history here. But they have been tested and authenticated, like everything else in the shop.”

Giles looked into the man’s grey eyes - and felt something there.

The stranger examined the fans again. “I see,” he said.

Giles felt the inquisitive nature of the man’s expression.

“They come from – well, they’re _said_ to have come from an ancient civilisation called the Descendants of Meru. They are supposed to contain truly unique magical powers, but no one has ever tried to use them. Not here, anyway. But the materials have been authenticated, and they are catalogued with the Smithsonian Institute of Britain, if you would like to see the paperwork.”

“That won’t be necessary, though I do appreciate the offer. And your honesty.”

Giles raised an eyebrow, finding his choice of wording somewhat unusual.

The Apache man lightly touched his forehead with his fingers, as if contemplating the purchase. “How much are you asking for them?”

A disappointed Giles began to consider withholding sale, but didn’t quite have the nerve to say so. It would look a bit suspicious, and he knew the Council of Watchers must have a tab on this place. Besides, this was a shop. Selling the merchandise was what it was _for_.

He thought of something.

“I’m afraid they’re very rare; only two sets were ever made, and as such, they are priced accordingly.”

Giles hoped he wouldn’t ask, but of course he did.

“I quite understand. How much?”

“Well, fifteen thousand, actually.”

Giles had pulled the price out of thin air; the fans weren’t, strictly speaking, the most expensive items in the store, but they were in the top five, at least. Giles was confident in his assumption that no one would pay that much even for a magical item, regardless of its history or authenticity. He knew the fans were supposed to be extremely potent; as works of art, they were practically priceless. He didn’t know enough about them, though - and he really wanted to.

Besides, he thought to himself, that’s mid-day robbery if ever he had heard it, let alone commit it.

_It’s a pity,_ Giles thought to himself, _that Willow had been considering buying the fans as a gift for Tara; she’ll never get to give them to Tara if this gentleman buys them..._

The stranger raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll take them.”

“Oh. I – I’m sorry?”

“I said I’ll take them.”

Well, so much for that, Giles thought. “Are you certain, Sir? There are very few people that are prepared to pay that much for such items, and we do have a ‘Cash Only’ policy on our rarest items. If you’d like to take some time to think it over-”

“I understand. I would like to purchase them now. And I do have adequate resources available.” Though he smiled, his stance indicated to Giles that there would be no further discussion on the matter.

“Oh, okay.” Giles said. “Let’s just step over this way, please.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

They walked over to the register, where Giles went to handwrite a receipt. Anya got her first real close-up look at the strange Apache, eyeing his unique tattoos.

“Did getting those hurt?” Anya pointed at his arms.

“Uh, Anya, if you don’t mind -”

“I’ve always had them.”

The Apache leveled his eyes at Giles and waited patiently for the receipt.

Reaching for his files, Giles merely nodded and finished writing up the order.

Now that the man was close by, Anya could see the deformities in his forehead. She frowned in thought.

“Can’t you get surgery for that?” She asked tactlessly.

The Apache simply looked at her.

Giles contemplated smacking her.

“Why would I want surgery for them”, he asked her.

Anya thought she felt power there, but wasn’t sure.

“Anya, wrap these please,” Giles said, coldly.

Caught in his gaze, it took her a moment to register the request. Catching up, she took the delicate fans in hand. “Aahh, the Fans of Wu Xian. An excellent choice. Might I also recommend the -”

“Yes, Anya,” interrupted Giles. “I’m sure he already knows. Just wrap them, please?” He leaned over toward the taller man. “I apologise, Sir, she just – sometimes – opens her mouth and -”

He nodded, and smiled. “That’s all right. I know others who – express their own opinions in similar ways.” He offered his hand to Giles, who shook it as a customer to a salesman. “No offense taken,” the man said.

The Apache handed over the money and took the box, waiting politely while Giles counted it all.

While counting, Giles spied another symbol, located on the front of the man’s gi.

One last time, Giles looked straight into the man’s eyes.

He shivered at what he felt there.

“Are you all right, Sir,” the stranger inquired politely.

“Yes. Sorry about that,” said Giles woodenly.

“Not at all. I thank you for your service, sir.”

“Yes, you’re quite welcome.” Giles smiled pleasantly.

As the man strode quietly over to the front door, Giles took a gamble.

“I only wonder what the Descendants of Meru would think.”

The red man looked back, his eyes once again locking with Giles.

The unanswered intrigue hung in the air, as thick as the autumn chill outside, as the two men observed each other.

Calmly and casually, the Apache removed a necklace from his person as he walked over to the check-out desk and solemnly placed the necklace on the counter.

“Here. This is for your friend. To give to her friend.”

“I’m sorry?” said a shocked Giles.

“Since your friend was going to buy her the fans. Tell her to give her this instead. This will protect her from harm. I believe she will find this useful.”

Giles delicately picked up - an amulet, made of real green jade, with intricate gold carvings. As a piece of artwork it was stunningly beautiful. And it felt...weighted.

“Th-thank you,” stuttered Giles.

Smiling, the man nodded, and walked unhurriedly out the front door of the shop.

Anya, meanwhile, couldn’t wait. She was scoping out the cash.

“Wow! Giles, fifteen thousand dollars,” crowed Anya. “This is great! You can actually pay bills, now!”

“Yes,” murmured Giles as he walked to the door and opened it, searching for the man who had just -

\- vanished without a trace.

“Gee, Giles, I don’t get it. Didn’t you want to sell those fans?”

“Well, no. I wanted to study them. And Willow was going to buy them to give to Tara,” he spoke in a quietly distracted tone.

“I didn’t know you told him about that,” said Anya. Distracted by the cash, she didn’t hear his response.

Giles looked up as the realisation hit him.

“I didn’t.”

 

 

 

 

 

The problem, Willow considered, was the indefinity. The answer itself was indefinite. It could be anything. Vampires were strong, but it was easy to kill them, and there were, it turned out, quite a few well-known, fairly simple ways to kill them, and if you had the physical ability or the weapons, then anyone could do it. SHE had done it.

She also realised that she didn’t have enough information to establish parameters and eliminate various factors. She needed specifics, not a group of options. Too many variables existed.

She tried a few prophecy websites, but fared no better. Buffy had spoiled half of them anyway, just by surviving. So, no luck there.

Besides - Tara was doing magic. It seemed a lot more interesting - not to mention logical - to follow that more than the web. Besides, Tara was an education in and of herself for Willow. She had touched on some areas Willow hadn’t even thought of.

A shadow on the wall attracted her attention.

Willow froze at the sight of a grey falcon gazing in on her.

She smiled gradually - it was a gorgeous bird! - but she thought of what Tara had told her about. She wondered if they were the same bird. It could very well be.

She suddenly had the idea to check a few other sources.

She then realised that she never stopped to wonder if it really was Angie who could be killing the vampires.

Willow turned back to the computer, inspired now to check the local records and recent headlines. Perhaps they might provide something useful.

_If it’s not in here,_ Willow thought, _than the answer may not be in magic either. Then what’ll we try?_

The phone rang, startling her out of her frustration. She knew Anya or Giles would pick it up, so she continued...

She looked through the latest newspaper article from yesterday; some guy from the Apache Nation had led local police forces to a kidnapped woman. The woman had been beaten, raped, tortured, and left to die; the main suspect was a career criminal with several domestic convictions pending.

What was really interesting was that the remains of her tormentor were found in the next room to where she was; she had no memory at all of what had happened to him.

The press had a scratchy photo of the guy who had discovered the kidnapped woman, but they didn’t print his name, apparently out of his wishes to maintain his anonymity.

Anya walked into the office. “Willow? ‘Phone.” She handed Willow the shop’s wireless telephone.

“Thanks,” she said, and picked up the phone, leaving Anya alone in the office.

By chance, Anya glanced at the computer screen.

She was intrigued. She decided to read.

Willow walked right outside the door.

“Hello?”

“Willow? It’s me, Angie.”

Willow’s eyes widened, her breathing quickening.

 

 

 

 

 

“Listen, I need to talk to you about something. When might we be able to get together?”

“Angie? Angie! Oh, oh, Hi! Well, not right now, I’m sort of helping a friend.”

“Oh, Willow, it’s about Tara; she had kind of a bad experience with the meditation, and then when I saw her again this afternoon, she really just freaked out. I was just worried about her. Is she okay?”

Willow calmed down a bit. Okay, this sounded reasonable and all. Angie sounded...concerned. There wasn’t any malice or anger in her voice, merely the worry of someone responsible for the well-being of her students.

“She’ll be okay. But, I really have to go, so -”

“Okay. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything -”

“Oh, no,” said Willow reassuringly. “That’s okay.”

“So, what about tomorrow,” asked Angie. “Are you free?”

“I’m not sure, but I think I can do that.”

“Say, about noon,” Angie asked.

“Sure,” she glanced towards the weapons room. “I should be free.”

“Okay, see you then. Thanks, Willow.”

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re welcome. Blessed be. ‘Bye.”

She hung up the phone and walked into Giles’s office, stopping when she found herself face to face with an agitated Anya.

“I just saw this guy,” Anya was yelling. “He was just in here! Maybe he’s the guy!”

“The guy,” Willow asked, confused.

“Yeah,” said Anya. “Maybe he’s the one who did in all the vamps! He was wearing a martial arts gi, and he was tall and powerfully built, and he bought these talismans, the fans of Wu Xian -”

“Those oriental fans,” cried Willow. “Ooooohhhh. Crap. I was going to get those for Tara. Her birthday’s coming up soon -”

Anya stared at Willow. Willow could tell she wasn’t going to like this. “What?”

“Willow, he left something here for you. Giles has it.”

“What? That can’t be right. I don’t know this guy. I don’t know who he is. They don’t even have his name. Besides,” Willow pointed to the screen. “How can you tell who that is? There’s too much distortion on the picture. It’s all blurred on the negative.”

Anya stared at the computer screen. “It is?”

“Yeah,” said Willow. “Can’t you see it?”

“No,” said Anya. “I can see his face there, clear as day, like it should be.”

“But how can you see through all of that fuzziness?”

Inspiration hit Anya. _Yes,_ she thought to herself, _that would explain it._

“Willow, what am I?”

Willow wanted so badly to say what she thought Anya was, but she kept her cool. “A vengeance demon?”

“Former. Let’s stress that. _Former._ But, otherwise, that’s right. And we have ways of cloaking ourselves to cameras and video equipment. But we can also see right through it when someone else does it!”

Willow turned back to the screen. “So - so, he’s a demon?”

“I -” Anya frowned. He didn’t feel... “I don’t think so. He doesn’t feel like a demon. I think he’s something...else.”

“Great. Well, that helps matters along. Alright, okay, he could be...”

She went to find Tara.

 

 

 

 

 

Tara had finally gotten a fix on something.

She had taken a little extra time; she wasn’t used to chanting all those incantations. But she had finally gotten it right after all.

She only had two limiting conditions, but they were big ones: She could only see places where she had spent a lot of time and was familiar with, and she could only look for people she was very close to.

She was close to Buffy and the others - but only through Willow. It was a bit of a risk.

She recalled with pleasure the night she had scryed Willow’s dorm room, and watched her sleep.

She had known, in those moments, that Willow was her soul mate, and that she would never love another as she loved her. She would never love another, ever.

She gently guided the scry-field over to the campus playground, site of many important moments for her at the college...

...Which, she recalled, had nothing to do with the vampires that appeared in her mirror...

Twelve of them. Goddess, were they repulsive.

The playground was where parents who were students brought their kids to play while they were in class. There was attending supervision during the day; other neighborhood kids played there in the later evening when all of the college parents took their children home. And now, vampires were looking for their next meal.

She saw them, but couldn’t see the thing that she was looking for, this uber-hunter or whatever it was. She did, however, have the feeling that she would know it when she saw it.

She moved the scrying field a little towards the darker part to -

\- There. Right THERE.

It looked human-shaped. It was a cloud of translucent black. Somehow, there was a faint blue glow around its edge. She felt that she should see more of it, but she felt it projecting some sort of mystical barrier around it, protecting it from being identified. She had only just caught it out of the corner of her eye.

It stopped, and looked up.

At her.

At HER.

It vanished from the scrying field.

Tara studied the entire park, panicking quietly to herself. There were about a dozen or more vampires, and only one of whatever that was, but she knew instinctively that not a single vampire out there would see this night’s end.

She wondered if Buffy and Xander would see the night’s end.

Fearing for the safety of her friends, she reached out for the walkie-talkie to call Buffy.

 


	12. Dualities

“This is Buffy. Tara? That you?”

”It’s me. There’s a dozen or so vampires over by the campus, on the playground.”

“We’re within jogging distance; we’ll be there in a sec.”

“Buffy? That thing we’re looking for is there too.”

“Great. Just great. Did you see what it was?”

“I don’t know. But it knows I’m watching, and it’s blocking me. I can’t pierce its veil. I’m going to have to stop the spell soon; I can’t keep this up much longer.”

“Got you, Tara. Thanks. You’ll always have a job with me. See you in a few.”

She turned off her talkie and picked up the pace.

“So Tara’s our new Radar Tower, huh,” said Xander.

“Looks like,” said Buffy absently, thinking through possible strategies and attack plans, and pulling out an extra stake for herself. “Hate to think what kind of power it’s got, if it can block a witch’s spell just like that. Xander, how are you on stakes?”

“I got some. I brought the crossbow too.”

“Go Xander. On top of things lately.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Buffy began to move toward the playground, Xander right behind her. “Let’s get over there. I want to catch this thing. No free market slaying around here without consulting _me_.”

“I don’t want to catch it,” said Xander.

“Why not?”

“’Cause I want to avoid it.”

They settled into a run.

 

 

 

 

 

The vampire gang, more than a dozen strong, split up over the playground, looking to ravage. As Buffy had pointed out to the Scoobies earlier, vampires usually dined alone. This group, however, were all college students who had hung out together before the change. They saw no reason to leave their buddies out of the fun.

Hours ago, word had arrived that several of their brethren had kicked the dustbin. All in one night. And they knew it wasn’t the Slayer.

At least, they hoped it wasn’t the Slayer.

Upon coming to Sunnydale, they had managed to obtain good, steady information on the Slayer’s various comings and goings. Tonight was a “study” night, whatever that was. For extra safety, they tried to avoid all of the places that she had been seen frequenting; the latest word: keep away from the college dorms and that shop called the Magic Box.

Messing around with her friends or family was not EVEN to be thought of; quite a few who had done that would undoubtedly have told of the consequences but for the fact that they were no longer around to tell of them. That in and of itself was a lesson to be quickly absorbed. The ones who knew not to mess with her friends found out because they had overheard the ones who bragged about doing so, and then never heard from them again.

Vampires could be stupid, but they could also be very quick on the uptake.

So, unless she was really mad - which was at least once a season, anyway - this wasn’t her doing. This was something else’s.

A piercing wail informed all parties concerned that whatever it was, it was nearby. And working.

Party Time for the Fang Gang.

 

 

 

 

 

It wasn’t exactly “party time” for him, but he was doing what he did best, something few could even come close to matching him in - the vicious arena of close-quarters combat. He considered himself to be “at work,” “putting in a full day at the office”, as a friend of his used to say. The area was well-lit, with plenty of space to move around in, and various trees and structures to use should they become necessary.

He was well-rested, recharged, armed and warmed up from earlier activities. This was when Bird-Of-Prey - also known outside of his sect as Joshua Henderson - lived up to his vision-name.

He was now surrounded by nine of the undead things, having contemptuously disposed of two of them within moments of their attack, within inches of where he stood, his hands brandishing tomahawks that unleashed oblivion upon any vampire that came too close.

“He has weapons”, shouted one of the parasites. “Swordbearers, step forward!”

_How cute,_ Bird-Of-Prey thought to himself. _They’re attempting to regroup and organise._

The vampires started to shift position, allowing the ones carrying swords to step forward unhindered.

They were huge, like their quarry. Their katas indicated considerable skills and hard-won experience. Such swordsmen must have known no loss in their day.

The lone Apache executed a quick back flip that landed him near one of the trees. He swung each tomahawk into the trunk and reached for his back, pulling out a long, metallic rod from the folds of his gi.

The vampires that saw the rod stepped back, unsure as to what he would do.

Gracefully, Bird-Of-Prey unfurled one of the fans of Wu Xian, the metallic rod anchoring a gorgeous golden silk fan decorated with Kanji and Chinese pictograms. He slowly, languidly, fanned some sweat from his face.

That’s when the snorting started. The vampires all began guffawing uproariously at this vicious warrior who had turned rather feminine on them. Who did he think he was? The Slayer?

Bird-Of-Prey felt within the fan for the magics hidden there.

The vampires, all seven of them left, still making jokes, began to approach him anew, certain that while he was dangerous, he was also mortal, and thus very killable.

For the first time that day, he smiled a wicked smile.

He spread his right arm out away from his body, holding the fan outward.

He gave the fan a quick flick, furling out from the cloth.

A blue light covered the silk of the fan, which transformed into a long, curved, vicious two-handed cutting weapon recognisable to any Star Trek fan as a bat’tleth.

The transformation took less than an entire second.

All the vampires, gazing stupidly at their adversary, immediately backed up, all of them at a complete loss as to who or what they were dealing with.

Five more undead ran into the group to add to the slaughter, and saw that all seven were backing away from one mortal man. The five backed up so as not to get trampled on by their fellow undead.

_A busy day,_ thought Bird-Of-Prey.

Desperate to put an end to the threat and get on with feeding, a particularly nasty looking vampire drew a gun, aiming it squarely at the towering Apache.

Bird-Of-Prey felt the hammer cock back through the very air itself.

He saw the gun.

An explosion sliced through the silence of night.

 

 

 

 

 

It galvanised Buffy’s attention.

“Oh, great,” yelped a hysterical Xander. “They’re carrying guns. Weren’t medieval weapons of torture supposed to be enough for these guys?”

An inhuman scream took up where the explosion had left off.

“Wonder how many different creatures that could be,” Buffy panted. “C’mon, Xander, we’re almost there!”

They were very close now, tens of feet instead of hundreds...

 

 

 

 

 

Willow bounded into the weapons room as Tara was shutting down the scrying spell. Tara whirled around at the sudden intrusion.

She smiled at Willow, then froze at her expression.

“What is it?”

“Tara, are you sure it was Angie?”

“Tara?”

Willow and Tara both turned to face Giles, who had just walked in.

“Someone left something here for you,” Giles said, holding out the Chinese amulet.

Tara stared at the amulet, eyes widening.

 

 

 

 

 

_He’s come here to interfere. He’s been an ally to us. He’s fought beside us, and now he will betray us. He will warn them about us._

 

_HE WOULDN’T DO THAT. HE FIGHTS THE UNCLEAN MUCH AS WE DO._

 

_But Tara is his friend. They go back - way back. He will not allow them to rejoin us. He will not allow them to be taken._

 

_WHY NOT?_

 

_He’s helplessly moral that way. It’s part of his construction, his composition._

 

_WE OWE HIM TOO MUCH. AND, EVEN IF WE DIDN’T, WE CAN’T KILL HIM. THE WORLD WILL NEED HIM LATER ON._

 

_Damn. What do we do?_

 

_I AM A GODDESS!!!!!_

 

_What do we do then, my Goddess?_

 

_WE TAKE ALL THREE OF THEM._

 

_We’ll need help._

 

_WE SHALL HAVE IT._

 

_Yes, my Lady. But..._

 

_WHAT? YOU CANNOT REGRET THIS NOW!_

 

_I am merely sad, that they should have to be like us..._

 

_YOU MADE YOUR CHOICE YEARS AGO, ANGELA._

 

_True. I did._

 

 

 

 

 

All the vampires were backing away now.

The gunshot-to-be never became a gunshot, logically enough because it never even left the barrel.

They had all seen the Apache face down the vampire holding the gun. He had slammed his left foot into the ground while punching the very air between him and the gun-toting fangboy.

Of course, they had all laughed; they had expected the vamp to shoot him right then, as the man had made practically no effort to get out of the way.

They _did not_ expect the gun to explode in the vamp’s face, catching him on fire and dusting him in the process.

Not even a second later, he was attacking both of the swordsmen. To their utter horror, they, too, found that nothing could save them.

Within seconds he had disarmed one and dusted the other one, his bladed monstrosity actually cutting through the large broadsword that one of them had held, severing it cleanly into halves.

That same moment saw the Slayer and her not-so-fearless ally attacking the vamps from the other direction, Buffy staking two at once while Xander took careful aim with Buffy’s crossbow and staked a third.

Buffy drew her own sword, a katana that Giles had thoughtfully gotten her for her birthday last year. Buffy admired it; it was compact, graceful, quick, and very easy to handle. Buffy’s fatality rate was about to rise.

She advanced forward, her presence the vampires’ boogeyman tales made flesh. She had no idea that she was scaring the hell out of vampires who had already been made mentally incoherent by the Apache’s bloodthirsty, unending assault.

Xander ducked off to the side, finding cover to reload the crossbow, got distracted by a movement, and looked up to see...

That guy. The one he had ran into earlier, near his car...

Bird-Of-Prey had changed the cutting weapon back into the fan of Wu Xian, the blue light flashing quickly through the change. As he replaced the fan onto his back he grabbed his tomahawks, replacing them into his gi.

Xander saw that he wasn’t running after them - _he_ stalked _them._

Buffy was fighting two vamps on the other tree around the corner; she hadn’t seen the black-clad martial artist yet.

Xander loaded up an arrow and took aim at one near Buffy.

Practise had paid off - it was ashes in no time.

He turned back to watch the other guy, who was still stalking his enemies.

Eventually the Apache warrior walked them into the area where Buffy was.

Afraid of the ultimate slugfest coming to the fore, Xander ran to rejoin his friend.

Three vampires stood between Buffy and Bird-Of-Prey. Buffy had registered his presence, but only barely.

She grinned evilly at the other three vamps.

”Hello, boys,” she sneered. “Wanna party?”

One ran at Buffy, wielding the leftover sword from the dusted swordsmen. A moment later, both were engaged in an all-out swordfight.

The one closest to Xander pounced on him, hoping to feed.

The last one attacked Bird-Of-Prey.

This one was obviously good at hand-to-hand combat, and had every intention of feeding from his quarry.

They began their own dance to the death.

The martial art that the Apache used allowed him to manipulate forces inaccessible even to most other martial arts fighters, delving into areas of chi theory that other arts only touched upon.

Bird-Of-Prey hit the other vampire, projecting his chi into the undead body, and lighting it on fire.

The vampire was ashes in less than a second.

Buffy briefly glimpsed the sudden flare of firelight from a few feet away, but was too busy to look closely. She was weakening her assailant, and was right on the verge of staking it.

Xander was barely holding off the last vampire.

The parasite has sprouted his fangs, and was a little too close to Xander’s neck for Xander to feel comfortable.

Xander screamed for Buffy to help...

And then screamed even further as the vamp’s head fell onto him, apparently no longer attached to its body...

The resulting dust cloud landed on him, choking his breathing.

As he rolled over and got to his feet, coughing to get the dust out from his lungs, Buffy staked the vamp at last, and jogged over to where he was.

“Xander? Are you all right?”

He was beginning to experience the wonderful sensation of breathing. He silently promised Whoever Was Up There that he would never take breathing freely for granted again.

“Yeah,” he hacked. “Yeah, I’m – I’m okay.” He coughed the last of it out, taking in a few slow, deep breaths. “THAT wasn’t so good.”

Buffy was looking around.

So was Xander. “Where is he?”

“That guy,” asked Buffy. “That one in the Bruce Lee outfit? I don’t know. I wanted to talk to him. Find out who he is.”

“That was a human guy. And that was a GUY.”

“Yeah, Xander, I could see his manliness come forth and all that.”

“So,” said Xander, grasping onto reality. “He’s not a Slayer. Damn.” Xander couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He would rather have seen another woman in action.

“Right, we’ve just got to have another Faith for you and Giles to lust over, don’t we? Like that’s a great idea,” Buffy scolded him.

Xander nodded.

“Well, at least he didn’t try anything on us.”

“Yeah,” said Buffy, still looking for -

He was quietly, unhurriedly walking away through the trees, without looking back. He was a good distance away, a quick sprint at least.

“I’ll be right back,” she said. She ran after him.

Xander shrugged his shoulders. Wasn’t this his harem? And now it seemed some other guy was horning in on it. Without _actually_ horning in on it. God, it was frustrating.

Of course, he and Anya were solidifying something between the two of them - if she could ever stop talking about their sex life to other people.

He jogged to catch up, trying to catch his breath along the way.

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey!”

The black-garbed man continued to walk on, as if he hadn’t heard them.

“Hey! You!”

_Brilliant etiquette there, Emily Post,_ Buffy thought to herself. _You’ll really impress him with your lack of...of...whatever it is that gets the attention of other fighter guys in the universe._

“Hey!”

She finally caught up with him, stepping in front of him and forcing him to stop short.

“I want to talk to you.”

Her first good look at him wasn’t the worst she had ever seen, but he looked a little intimidating. She hadn’t seen that in a while.

There was barely an expression on his angular face. And, in this light, his grey eyes shone almost to the point of glowing.

She stepped back into a fighting stance, just in case.

Buffy could also see the very colourful symbols sewn into his martial arts gi, as well as some of the tattoo work on his arms. They were actually glowing. It was enough to make her hesitate, to play it safe.

“What are you?”

“Greetings,” creaked his deep, gravelly voice.

“Hi there,” she grinned mirthlessly. “Doing a bit of Slaying on a cool autumn night, are we? Nothing else to do? Trying to corner the market for MY job?”

He raised an eyebrow, turned to his right, and began to walk away.

“Wait a minute,” she said irritably, moving around to stop him. Things were definitely not going her way here.

He stopped, merely looking at her. He didn’t seem to be at all worried, or on the defensive. It was as if he were watching the event from an outside perspective, rather than experiencing it.

Xander walked up, having barely caught the first of the exchange.

“What are you doing out here? Who are you?”

“I regret to say that I do not quite follow,” he answered, his voice betraying just the tiniest hint of an impatient snarl.

“Slaying. You know, offing vampires -”

“And demons,” Xander interjected.

“And demons, too,” she snapped at him. “Well? What were you doing out here?”

He raised an eyebrow, and met Buffy’s glare eye to eye. The merest hint of a smile seemed to pass through his face, though Buffy couldn’t tell for sure. He shrugged. “Defending myself. And your friend.”

“Defending yourself,” shrieked Xander. “You call that DEFENDING YOURSELF? Why don’t you just include fully professional scalping services with that there –“

“Xander, stop! You’re not helping! Now,” She paused to catch her breath. “Have we been killing some supernatural baddies today? Was that you?”

“It’s possible,” Bird-Of-Prey said simply.

“How many,” asked Buffy.

“A few. Since when have we been keeping score?” he uttered quietly.

“You _do_ know what they are, right,” Buffy hammered at him. She was mildly irritated that he was going around killing things on her watch, but his economy of language and the air of humouring them that she got from him hadn’t exactly improved her mood.

_Men,_ she seethed to herself.

“I know what they _were,_ ” he answered neutrally.

“They’re vampires. They’re really, really dangerous. You could get hurt fighting them. In this town, I take care of this problem,” Buffy was beginning to get angry.

“I am privileged to have been of assistance,” The Apache nodded. “And now, I must be on my way.”

“Hold up just a minute there, Geronimo,” Xander snarled. “A friend of ours was hurt this afternoon by some freaky, powerful vision thingies, and I want to know if you’re responsible!”

His anger was such that even Buffy didn’t stop him, instead looking toward the tall, dark, and - _well, he’s not handsome per se, but, you know, maybe a little -_

_What the hell am I thinking,_ she thought angrily to herself. _Now’s not the time to be comparing him to Riley._

She looked into his eyes. She knew how to read people. She read nothing but honest concern in his face. She decided to take a chance.

“Do you know what happened to her?”

He shook his head.

”But, you have an idea, though.”

“I might.”

“Xander, back down a minute.” She held out her hand. “I’m Buffy Summers. This is Xander Harris. We -” She looked down for a moment, aware of how it would sound when she said it. “We fight the forces of darkness.”

They shook hands.

He nodded, and turned to face them both.

“I am Joshua Bird-Of-Prey. I do...something similar. You may call me by my vision name, if you wish. You have earned that.”

She nodded and smiled, slowly understanding that he was trusting her; an acknowledgement from one warrior to another. She got the sense that he did not share this often.

“You’re, uh, you’re not from around here, are you,” Xander meekly asked, trying to regain lost ground. He had the sneaking suspicion that he hadn’t done enough to earn permission to call him by any name whatsoever.

“No.”

“Hold on a sec,” she said, gazing into his grey eyes. “Got a quick call to make. Family to check up on.” She pulled out the walkie-talkie.

“Buffy calling Tara. Tara? Are you there?”

A moment later, “This is Tara. Buffy, is everything okay out there?”

Xander might have imagined it, but he thought he saw a look of surprised concern cross Bird-Of-Prey’s stony face ever so briefly at the sound of Tara’s voice.

Ever so briefly. It was completely neutral again now. Or maybe it always was, he thought.

“Everything’s fine. Look, we’ll meet you and the others over at my Mom’s house.”

“Okay. Did you ever find out about that thing?”

Looking up at the towering Apache, Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know. Not yet. I’ll fill you in later.”

“We’ll see you there, Buffy.”

Tara signed off.

“So,” said Buffy as she handed the walkie-talkie back to Xander. “What are you?”

“I beg your pardon,” asked Bird-Of-Prey.

“Well, you’re not a Slayer, you’re not a demon - I don’t think, you’re too warm to be a vampire and nobody can face down that many baddies and not lose their cool. So, I don’t think you’re human. How’m I doing so far?”

“I’m as human as you are.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“Got a death wish then?”

Bird-Of-Prey frowned at her, just ever so slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Well, taking on all of those vampires. You could get yourself killed doing that.”

He shrugged. “Death holds no fear for me.”

She stared at him.

‘You weren’t even slightly worried that those vampires could have hurt you or even killed you?”

“No.”

“How can you be so confident about that? One wrong move and you’re a sandwich to those guys.”

“You could always ask them what they think of my confidence. I feel very sure they’d give me full marks.”

“No, thanks, not going to hell anytime soon,” interrupted Xander. “Point extremely well taken here, I think, don’t you, Buff?” Xander chortled nervously.

Buffy seemed to have reached a decision.

“So - have you had dinner today?”

Bird-Of-Prey politely shook his head. “No.”

And then he went silent.

Even Xander was confused. Surely he knew he was being offered food. Xander himself had grown quite adept at registering such offers.

Buffy looked at Xander, who shrugged, and then turned back to the dark form.

“Well, when was the last time you ate?”

Bird-Of-Prey seemed to consider this.

“Anything?” Xander prompted.

“About three weeks ago.”

She looked for signs that he was joking. He didn’t appear to be.

“Man, how do you live,” Xander had to ask.

“I have a bit more control over my prana pattern than most people. Biofeedback, involuntary muscle control, chi manipulation - all of this allows me a bit more flexibility with my physical form than most people enjoy.”

A stunned Buffy commented, “And here I was just worrying about the fat in a bag of chips.” She gave up trying to figure him out. “Look, would you like some food? My mother’s cooking dinner for us tonight.”

“Buffy, are you sure this is -” Xander started.

Buffy turned to him. “You got any better ideas?” She waited. Xander shrugged, lost. She shrugged too. “So there it is.” She turned back to face their erstwhile ally. “So - how about it? Dinner on the house, for saving my friend’s life. Whaddaya say?”

He shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I do not wish to intrude.”

“Well, you already have. And, biowhatever or not, you look like you can use a good meal. And something tells me you can help us. We’re looking for somebody with a lot of – unusual power.”

“This thing has the ability to mess with peoples’ thoughts,” said Xander.

At that, the martial artist raised an eyebrow. “As it turns out, so am I.”

“Well, then. For thanks for this evening’s slayings, come with us. You must not have had a lot of people cook for you. Where are you from, anyway?&#34;

He nodded. “China.”

“China,” Buffy deadpanned.

“That’s the one,” he replyed, nodding to her.

“And you’re what tribe of Native American,” Xander asked as politely as he could.

“Apache.”

An Apache Indian growing up in China, thought Xander.

That explains...not a damned thing.

Oh well, thought Xander. At least he’s not from the Chumash tribe. Everyone’ll be relieved to know that.

 

 


	13. Dualities

They all found themselves at Buffy’s house, waiting for Willow and Tara to show up.

Giles and Joyce could be found on opposite sides of the table. There seemed to be some sort of strange discomfort there, though no one questioned it. Buffy and Bird-Of-Prey sat opposite each other next to Giles. Xander sat next to Buffy, with Anya and Dawn farther down. Seats were waiting for Willow and Tara beside “Joshua”, as Buffy had introduced them.

Anya kept staring at his forehead, occasionally butting in with questions such as “Was your mother a demon, by chance?” and “Does any bestiality run in your family that you know of?” After a few more golden hits like these, Anya was silenced by Dawn, who, in her maturity, slapped Anya on the wrist.

Dawn thought of him as strange, but didn’t really pay that much attention, chalking it all up to Buffy’s usual weirdness. She noticed how it seemed to just run throughout her friends and sometimes her family. It seemed like Riley was the only normal one, and he wasn’t even there; he was off on some assignment or other, and Buffy had been rather short-tempered ever since.

Giles, of course, had recognised the towering warrior from earlier in the Magic Box, and wasn’t altogether too surprised to find that Buffy and Xander had run into him. The only normal answer he had gotten from Bird-Of-Prey so far was his age: 27.

“So, uh, Joshua,” Giles began quietly. “Are you truly a Descendant of Meru?”

“Spiritually, yes.”

Giles leaned forward, then noticed that this made him appear - and feel - shorter than he already was compared to this man. “But, what about physically?”

“As far as the flesh is concerned, I’m half-Apache, and half-Caucasian,” he answered evenly.

“You know,” spoke up Joyce, who had been observing him with some interest. “I would never have known that you had any Caucasian blood in you at all. You look almost completely Apache to me,” she said, with a somewhat saucy undertone, winking to Buffy as she did so.

Buffy slowly shook her head and groaned.

“Well,” said a sullen Dawn, who felt put out by the whole business, “I heard you guys were bloodthirsty savages that scalped white soldiers with tomahawks and tried to call down evil spirits on them.”

“Dawn!” Joyce gasped. Giles floundered, dumbstruck.

“Dawn, you apologise to him RIGHT NOW!” screamed an enraged Buffy.

“Well, that’s what it says in our history books!” she yelled, shocked that her mother would argue against education. Usually, her mother was all for education, particularly Dawn’s.

Joyce looked as if she was going to say something else, but then Joshua looked her way and slightly shook his head. Joyce, not wanting to further embarrass anyone else, backed down.

Dawn glared over at Bird-Of-Prey, defiant to whatever possible judgment he could hold against her. “Well, tell me - is it true?”

He barely skipped a beat. “Mostly.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Mostly?”

“We never called evil spirits down on anyone, and certainly not our enemies,” he said matter-of-factly.

Dawn didn’t stop there. “But you scalped people and killed them?”

“Yes.”

“Because we took your land from you,” Dawn asked coldly.

He smiled a sad little smile. “You haven’t taken anything from me. It was neither the Red Man’s land nor the White Man’s land to begin with. It belongs to itself. It doesn’t belong to us. In fact, I would say that we belong to it more than it could ever belong to us. At best, we’re only renting it, and not even for a very long time.”

Eager to help smooth things over, Xander spoke up. “So, you don’t take all of that ‘Slave Treatment of Red People’ stuff seriously, then?”

“Why should I? You’re not going to try and enslave ME, are you,” the Apache asked calmly.

“Absolutely not,” said a very congenial Xander.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Giles.

“Only if it’s true what they say about Apache men -” Joyce began to tease.

“You said you’re from China, right?” Buffy interrupted before her mom could finish that thought.

Unfazed by Joyce’s sudden flirt, Bird-Of-Prey said, “I was there from about ages nine to twenty-three, and then moved over here to complete some required training.”

“So, did you learn martial arts here, or over there,” Buffy asked him candidly.

He never took his eyes from her as he responded, “I think you can tell from my technique where I trained.”

“China, without a doubt,” answered Xander numbly.

“So, Joshua,” said Giles quietly. “Why did you come here, anyway? If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

“Hey, everybody!” a voice called out.

Tara and Willow rounded the corner, then stopped at seeing him.

“Joshua?” croaked Tara, a slow smile forming on her face.

But he was studying Willow, who was giving him the once-over, with a very edgy expression.

“I have come because of them,” he stated, pointing at the two young witches.

Buffy and Giles stood up, ready to move in case danger was present.

Tara’s smile stopped, floating at the edge of a cringe.

“Why them,” inquired Anya, whose tone of voice indicated that her bestiality questions were much more important than Willow and Tara.

“Because they’re in danger.”

 

 


	14. Dualities

It was a dark and stormfree night. The world underneath Evening’s peaceful cast was at rest. For once.

Spike hated it, absolutely loathed it. It needed action, it called for slaughter, it could do with a bit of terror and overamplified screams of agony -

Actually, he felt like having a chat with Dawn. Not about anything in particular - just a leisurely talk. See how she was doing in school. Find out how she was adjusting to things, boys talking to her and all that. Hear about Buffy talking about him, even if she used words like “skanky”, “disgusting” and “annoying”.

He was getting domestic over the Slayer. Wasn’t this a bit of fun? And her sister too! Imagine that!

But he genuinely liked Dawn, much to his surprise. She never judged him; she listened carefully to what he said, and, even if she didn’t understand some (or any) of what he was talking about, she tried to speak truth and accept him for who - not what - he was. She tried to be his friend.

Demons don’t have friends. Vampires don’t either. And yet, somehow, she still accepted him as a friend, often giving him more of a chance to be himself than Buffy ever would.

Then again, he wasn’t exactly a terror of a vampire anymore, was he? He was safe, practically a Teddy Ruxpin doll compared to how he used to be. What was worse, his whole life was turning into some dreary drama; “Spike: The Saga Of The Good Guy Vampire And All Around Bloke Next Crypt.”

That’s right - Hostile 17 had become Harmless 17, thanks to the Initiative.

And Spike was actually missing being around Buffy’s gang. Even Red and G.I.Jackass. And couldn’t wait until the next time he spoke to Joyce, a civilised lady if ever he’d met one.

All in all, Spike loathed being a “good guy”, but he was getting used to it.

There had to be something to all of this “goodness” stuff.

Stalking off down the street away from the Butcher’s shop with a gallon of good pig’s blood (something else he was getting used to) on a Tuesday night. What fun.

He couldn’t even look evil without feeling fake. Why was this happening to him?

He was so preoccupied that he forgot to look where he was going, bumping into -

“Hmph! ‘Scuse me, didn’t see you there,” muttered Spike, clearly in no mood to deal with anyone right now. He changed directions without looking up.

“No problem”, said the camel with the sea otter’s head. “I’ve been there. It’s getting cold though, so be careful.”

Spike looked up for the first time, catching this bizarre sight out of the corner of his eye, and that was when he noticed -

\- a camel-like beast with a sea otter’s head sporting a Max Headroom T shirt;

\- a figure made of - literally - night and starlight;

\- a hole ( _what the bloody hell,_ thought a stunned Spike to himself), seemingly in reality, through which these things had all stepped, led by -

\- a gorgeous deific woman whose very being was suffused with bright lights and multi-coloured hues, all of which swirled around on her body and melted into each other as she walked.

Her eyes reflected the edges of forever.

A wave of her hand later, and the hole in reality was gone.

She smiled languidly at Spike, who wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking at.

“Hello again, Jason”, said the glowing figure in a deep husky voice.

Spike casually put the bag of blood down, subtly running his hands over his pockets to make sure he had a weapon or two on him. He cocked an eyebrow as he pulled out a pack of smokes. “And just who might you be,” he said.

“Jason – don’t you remember me?”

The rest of the - freak show, Spike mentally addressed them - gathered around her, their auras seemingly adding themselves to her power.

“Sorry, luv; name’s not Jason”, said Spike slowly, exhaling slowly and measuring up his odds against all three of them. He didn’t like his chances, but hell – he’d survived Buffy, hadn’t he?

He wondered vaguely to himself whether he should be taking any notes...

“Now, now, my darling husband - you know you can’t run from me. I will always find you as long as there is breath in my body.”

Spike tensed up as he realised that, as one, they began to walk towards him. His first impulse was to back away, but he’d be damned if he did that. He intended to stand his ground. After all, this was Sunnydale - and he felt somewhat possessive.

“Besides, I’m not here for you.”

The group stopped.

“You’re not,” Spike said curiously.

“No. I’m here for someone else. But – I’ve got plans for you, never you fear - lover.”

Despite the sweet promise in her voice, Spike did not like the sound of that.

Okay - so Spike was no longer an evil, hellraising vampire anymore. And he hadn’t exactly got the hang of being the good guy. Not yet, anyway.

None of that would stop him from beating some face in -

Unless they weren’t demons.

_Funny,_ he thought to himself. _They don’t look all...demon-y, do they?_

The conversation having reached some sort of conclusion on her part, the group as one turned around and walked away into the Sunnydale night.

Spike watched as they walked down the street.

The people everywhere seemed to ignore them as they walked by. Absolutely no one seemed to see the alienesque embodiments of weird - Spike wondered if they could only be seen by inhuman creatures.

_Hhhmm,_ he thought to himself. _They don’t seem to be too interested in me. I might go to Buffy’s and tell her later, or I might not. Depends on how bored I am._

_Or, I might just handle the problem myself._

He picked up his sack of pig’s blood and strode off. Dropping off his food shouldn’t be a problem; he’d just hide it in the crypt and then loon around town looking for the cutesy Day-Glo light. Some fresh blood in him and Spike would take these circus rejects OUT.

He had nothing better to do. And, he refused to admit to himself, a Slayer to impress. _Some good old-fashioned Manliness and all that,_ thought Spike. _Yeah. That’d do it._

Despite his heightened awareness and slight paranoia, Spike didn’t notice a tiny little glowball of light that nestled itself comfortably into the pig’s blood occupying the jars in the sacks he was carrying.

And neither Spike nor the strange creatures were aware that their exchange had been witnessed from above.

Having found what they were searching for, the two falcons soared off into the night.

 

 

 

 

 

“Dawn, you need to go up to your room now”, her mother patiently decreed.

“But Mom, they’re my friends too! I want to – “

“Now. And I will be following you shortly.”

Everyone else was doing their best to look away, embarrassed and protective all at once.

Except for Bird-Of-Prey, who looked her in the eye when she turned to face him.

She didn’t know how she felt about that. She thought that he should be somewhat remorseful about all this, and the fact that she couldn’t tell what he thought about all this simply irritated her further, and made her angry at him all over again.

“This is your fault”, she hissed at him.

“Dawn,” warned Buffy.

As before, he didn’t back down.

“You’re probably right”, he said quietly to her.

She stomped away upstairs.

“I’m very sorry”, said Joyce, facing him as she began to clear away the dishes. Bird-Of-Prey nodded, and began to help her clean the table. “Thank you for being understanding”, she sighed to him.

“No thanks are necessary; she’ll understand someday.”

Joyce nodded, turning on the sink tap.

“Mom, we could get this for you,” Buffy offered.

Joyce was about to say something, thought better of it, and then nodded, kissing her eldest daughter’s forehead and walking upstairs, wishing the Scoobies a good night.

“Guys, let’s clean up the kitchen and then step into the den.”

 

 

 

 

 

_I can’t STAND THEM!_ thought Dawn to herself as she slammed the door.

For all the good it did. All she got for her troubles was her mother, patiently needling her through the closed door, “Dawn, Honey, you need to stop doing that. If that door breaks, it’s coming out of your allowance.”

Well, what was she going to do about this?

Her sister and the gang dealing with some weird crap that they never told her about anyway, and some strange Native American evil-spirit-caller-and-killer-of-bunnies was there to warn them that Tara and Willow were in grave danger. _Woo hoo,_ thought Dawn to herself. _What can you do that my sister can’t do even better?_

_Why, she asked herself angrily, do I even care? They’re just IGNORING ME!_

_I bet Spike wouldn’t ignore me._

_Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll talk to Spike about it. He’s a big bad - well,_ _ **was**_ her brain corrected itself somewhat slightly - _bloodsucker, and he’ll make mince meat out of you, Demon-Foreheaded Weirdo!_

But, should she do that?

Why not? It’s not as if they’re really paying any close attention!

Her mind made up, Dawn grabbed a sweater and her purse, some lipstick, a knife, and some of Buffy’s diaries. Buffy never knew her sister had taken them; she hadn’t been home enough lately to write in them anyway.

She checked the door to make sure everyone was well busy in the kitchen, and then opened the window.

It was 8:50pm. Not too late. Her mom would probably wait until bedtime at 10:30pm to check on her. The crypt wasn’t that far away. She should be able to get back before anyone missed her.

With the care of a mouse creeping around a sleeping cat, Dawn made her way down the walls and out into the night, wondering to herself if she could find a crypt with enough reflection to put on her make-up.

 


	15. Dualities

After the kitchen was cleaned up, the Scooby Gang were in full-on conference mode. Again.

If it seemed to some that this was too much in one evening, no one actually came out and said so.

Tara and Willow both found themselves taking a sort of mental measure of the man they’d heard described as Joshua Bird-Of-Prey. Tara was simply confused by what little she knew about him. Willow was confused by him period.

Of course, she thought to herself, I’ve been confused about men a lot ever since Tara and I - well, became a couple, but why now?

Buffy found herself pacing the floor, back and forth in long, rhythmical swirls. She was trying to think out how to be sensitive to the needs of the situation. Giles looked exhausted; he had been up since 4:00am on some project or other, and no one else seemed to have anything else to say.

She now faced Bird-Of-Prey.

“Okay. You say that Willow and Tara are in danger.”

Willow, who hadn’t really been introduced to the newcomer formally, stuck her hand out at him, determined to make the best of it. “Hi.”

Bird-Of-Prey turned his gaze to her, staring at her hand as if it were a weapon.

“I’m Willow, by the way.”

With just a moment’s hesitancy, he nodded, and took her proffered hand, shaking it firmly in a gentle grip.

The power...the sheer power from his mere hands...Willow felt her body go numb for a moment...

And then she was fine.

She abruptly stepped back, staring up into the stark grey eyes.

Now that she could see him, truly see him, age was emanating off him in waves. She had no idea how she’d missed it before.

Everyone else stood up, wondering what had just happened; Tara had moved closer to Willow, suddenly not trusting her own intuition.

“What are you”, Willow breathed aloud.

“What,” asked Buffy, who didn’t quite catch what everyone saw. “Will, he’s Martial Arts Guy. He uses strange postures and cuts through vampires with paper fans.”

Anya took a closer look at the warrior, as if a thought had occurred to her.

“But, you hadn’t felt the power. When I shook his hand, it just -”

Bird-Of-Prey nodded, apparently committed to whatever decision he had made within himself. “They don’t feel it, Willow. They can’t, and she -” he pointed to Buffy, “Wouldn’t. Not like you or Tara can.”

Willow was backing up, unsure of what she was facing, and deciding that safe was better than sorry. She slowly began to build the power to -

It ceased.

It never even had a chance. Willow saw Bird-Of-Prey’s right hand move in a very slight gesture.

Tara was looking at her, alarmed at what she was about to do. “Willow, what are you doing -”

“If you wish,” said Bird-Of-Prey somewhat more quietly than before, “I will step outside. But I will not allow you to attack me.”

That was everyone’s cue to back away, until just Willow and Bird-Of-Prey stood facing each other in Buffy’s den. Tara walked in between them. Buffy, recalling that this was her house, and not at all sure of what had just happened, stepped forward in order to halt whatever… _this_ was.

“Look guys, I’m not sure what-” Buffy stopped in mid-sentence, seeing the fear in Willow’s eyes.

“You felt me starting my magics. I’d barely started them.”

As one, everyone in the room turned a critical eye to the stranger in their midst. Anya picked up one of Giles’s notepads lying on the table next to them, and started to write down something, keeping one eye on the Apache and the other on what she was writing.

“You were talking to a falcon earlier today,” said Tara.

“It might have been the same one I saw at the shop,” said Willow.

“I thought I saw your weapon change shape,” said Xander excitedly. “Wasn’t that oriental fan originally a big steel cutting thing when we got there,” Xander asked Buffy.

“Fan,” asked a bewildered Giles. “One of the Fans of Wu Xian? You turned it into a weapon,” he asked, glowering at Bird-Of-Prey.

“You bought my fans,” asked a heated Willow. “I was going to give those to Tara, and-”

“Your tattoos,” breathed Tara, pointing at his arms. “They’re glowing.”

Everyone stared at his arms. Sure enough, the tattoos were giving off a faint bright bluish glow from his very skin.

“They look like - magical energy,” whispered Tara.

“And you still have that ugly forehead thingy,” hissed Anya, determined to be a part of the team. She was scribbling madly on the notepad now.

“Anya,” begged Giles. “Please.”

Tara walked over to the stranger among them, away from Willow and past Buffy, who had inserted herself between them, and got right up close to him, touching his cheek and peering straight into his eyes.

Willow’s heart began to palpitate in her ears.

“Do - do I...know you,” Tara asked quietly. “I ke-keep getting this feeling that...I should know you. Or that I used to...?”

Giles walked over to Buffy and Willow, as Tara stood before him, awaiting her answer.

Bird-Of-Prey faced them.

“In the legends of my people, the correct term for one such as I would be “akashichin’ta.’”

The Scooby Gang all looked to Giles for the translation. Giles appeared to founder a bit, as he went through his head, searching his memory for...”No...I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I know ‘akasha’ has about four different meanings depending on the dialect, but -” he shrugged, unable to do any better.

“’Lightning People’”. yelled Anya. “That’s what it means. I knew it!”

Giles turned to Anya. “Are you sure that-”

He never got the chance to finish, as Anya slowly got up from the couch, chucking down the notepad and pencil. “Yes, I’m sure of that. I know exactly what they are,” she said. There was an uncertain twinge in her voice, as if she wasn’t sure she should have said it aloud.

“’The Lightning People’”, Giles said to himself, remembering the reference. “That’s what Oriental peoples call Magi.”

Willow’s face went white, along with Tara. It wasn’t a good colour for either of them.

It was Tara who sputtered first.

“Yo-you’re a m-m-MAGE?”

“Uh oh,” squeaked Willow.

Buffy looked over Bird-Of-Prey, frustrated with her own lack of information. “He doesn’t look very magical,” she said half-seriously, trying to remember what little she saw of his fighting technique, in case she should have to do combat with him. “I didn’t see him do any sort of magic or anything like that, Will. He just killed a lot of vampires. So what? That’s what I do.”

To Xander’s surprise, he saw Anya reach over for one of Buffy’s swords and pick it up, maintaining a distinct distance from the tall grey-eyes man. “You have no Scourge on you,” she said cautiously.

“We call it ‘Sam Chien’. Or just ‘Paradox’ in these times.”

“Well, that fits. But _you_ don’t have _any_. What did you do with it,” she asked, beginning to sound anxious now.

“I have not accumulated any Sam Chien for a long while.

“I don’t believe you. All Chin’ti’ have some. That’s the whole point!

“We can work off extremely minute quantities of it. That makes us safer to be around.”

“So you’re - sort of safe. That’s comforting,” said Anya, who wasn’t comforted.

“Guys. What’s the big deal? He’s a mage? He does magic?” Xander turned around to take another look at Bird-Of-Prey, mentally sizing him up for the role of a witch. Somehow, this didn’t click with him. “He’s a bit tall and too old to be Harry Potter, but isn’t a mage just a male version of what you two are,” he asked, nodding to Willow and Tara.

“He’s much more than that,” said Willow. “All the legends say that magi can literally affect reality on a very basic level. Even deeper than what we can do.”

“Will, don’t you do that anyway,” a frustrated Buffy asked, not understanding what all the fuss was about.

“But not like he does it,” said Tara.

“I’m certain there’s more than enough time to discuss this later,” said Bird-Of-Prey.

“Not if you want us to trust you,” said Willow.

“I must second that, Buffy”, said Giles.

Bird-Of-Prey raised an eyebrow, casually putting his hands behind his back, nodding to the witches.

“Where’s the difference in the power,” asked Giles quietly. He had never actually met a mage in person, so far as he knew; half the Watcher’s Council was rumoured to be magi, but Giles had hardly paid that much credence; this man before him was “otherly”; Giles could feel it in his very bones. _There’d be no way to mistake him for what he is, once you knew,_ thought Giles to himself. _Most people just don’t know. We haven’t seen them around for ages._

“We do small things, surface stuff, compared to him,” said Tara, struggling for words. “We can do a lot, but we sort of - we sort of need help, like, another witch, or –”

“Tools,” Willow said, taking Tara’s hand. “We have to have tools. Spells, ingredients, charts, diagrams, the right conditions -”

“Books and candles,” interjected Tara.

“-all that and other little gimzos and whatsits. We have to have it, but he doesn’t even need it. He can do things at will, right off the bat, whether anyone else is prepared for it or not,” Willow exclaimed almost breathlessly, wondering at the marvel of it all.

They all looked at Anya, who was merely watching Bird-Of-Prey with every single iota of attention she possessed.

Xander couldn’t help but jump in. “Well, sorry about this, Condorman, but no matter how good you are with the magic, you just don’t have their stunningly sexy good looks.”

“I wouldn’t even begin to argue with you there,” said Bird-Of-Prey.

“Gee - thanks, Xander,” Tara blushed.

“But what about me,” growled Anya, her attention finally back on Xander.

“Guys? Please?” Buffy fumed.

They all turned to face her.

“We were discussing danger to Will and Tara here.” She stood up and came to face Bird-Of-Prey. “Okay. I don’t know what they’re going on about. But, they think your magic is dangerous. So, no doing magic in the house. Now - why are they in danger?”

“Because there is another mage here, in Sunnydale, with plenty of assistance, looking to cause serious disruption to the wall between this world and other spiritual realms. On a permanent basis.”

“Why here? Why not elsewhere? Oh. _Right._ Because we’re on a _HELLMOUTH!_ “Xander’s rant began to get frantic. “Where ELSE could we go for such cosmos-ripping fun?!” He slammed one fist into his other hand. “Buffy, can’t we just MOVE? Please?”

Buffy raised an eyebrow at him. The rest of the Scooby Gang all glanced at one another as if Xander had grown a second head.

“Of course not,” popped Xander. “Whatever the hell was I thinking?”

“Nothing sensible, if you ask me,” retorted Anya.

“So,” coughed Giles, trying to bring yet again the whole discussion back on track. “You’re telling us that this other - mage - will try to open a portal in this reality. And let in some horrid things.”

“They will not try,” Bird-Of-Prey said calmly. “They will succeed. However, very few of this group -”

“A group of them? A GROUP OF THEM?” snapped Anya, her eyes wide as dinner plates. “This just gets better and better. First you say one and now there’s a whole damned cabal of these things?”

“He did say so, Anya, earlier on,” said Giles, too spellbound to show any anger. A whole cabal of these things...

“Actually,” interjected Bird-Of-Prey without missing a beat. “I said she had assistance. I don’t know how powerful that assistance is. Certainly not as powerful as she is. However, this group will have the power to open a portal, and more importantly, keep it open. Without that power, however, the portal will cease to work.”

“So, they’ll need other mages to work with them, and from the way you’re all talking, real mages have rarity value,” Buffy said. She once again faced her new ally, wondering just who he was underneath all of that red skin and multicultural costuming. “So, basically, you’re saying that all we need to do is keep this mage-woman from finding other mages to help her do this.”

“Essentially, this is correct,” the Apache answered her.

Buffy looked him in the eye for a few moments longer, then made her decision.

“If we can count on you, then you’re good with me. I’ve seen you fight, and I’m not sure why, but I trust you. Help me look after me and my friends, and this town, and we’re all good here,” she said. She paused, her face reflecting the difficulty of her position. “I only hope I’m making the right choice,” she said quietly.

Bird-Of-Prey bowed to her. “I am honoured, and I will prove myself worthy of your trust.”

Everyone could feel the two warriors mentally accepting each others’ word. Relief could be felt through the very air itself.

For her part, Buffy smiled warily. “You want my trust? That’s easy here, Bruce Lee. Help us stop this. Help us defeat this cabal thingie. Please, for God’s sake tell me you’re not the only good guy mage in this town.”

Bird-Of-Prey faced Buffy, Tara and Willow.

“I’m not the only mage in this room.”

He looked at Tara and Willow. So did everyone else.

They stared at each other silently, each wondering about the other...and themselves.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come; just trying to recreate the files...


End file.
